The Shades that Crave the Shadows
by Amilyi
Summary: When the Ents attack Orthanc, some of the orcs manage to escape. But where will they go to? And how far will they manage to go? My first (published) fanfic. Please 'Read and Review! [Completed]
1. Orcs of Orthanc

Disclaimer: If I had ever owned it, it wouldn't have been a success. Trust me.  
  
A/N: Okay. I shall begin by telling you that at this point in time, I have seen both the Fellowship of the Ring and Two Towers movies, read the whole Lord of the Rings book through once (and recently), and intend to read The Silmarillion this summer, and the Unfinished Tales sometime. What I'm trying to say here is, that whilst I have a good knowledge of Tolkien's world and characters (especially orcs - or so I like to think), it is not yet complete. Most of my story is not based on the main storyline of the books, but it could have happened during the timeline of Two Towers/ Return of the King. So please do not kill me if I seem ignorant of Middle Earth history, or I go a little wrong on the plot somewhere - I have a bad memory! :(  
  
Anyway, the story is based upon a band of orcs at Isengard just after the Uruk-hai have been sent off to the battle of Helm's Deep and just as the Ents are arriving. Why orcs? Because I love bad guys! I usually side with them because they make the story what it is. Anyone can be a sappy little do-gooder. Plus there's a shortage of Tolkien orc fics out there. Too many sappy Legolas romances, but a shortage of orcses, my precioussss..  
  
This story is a mixture of movie-verse and book version with a spattering of Amilyi-ishness to warp it all up a bit. For those of you who are even less knowledgeable of Black Speech (or have a bad memory like me): Sharkú = 'old man' in Black Speech, the name given to Saruman by the orcs of Isengard. Snaga = slave, also used by the Uruk-hai to refer to their lesser counterparts.  
  
Well, that author note must have bored you out of your mind. Now, onto the fic.  
  
~Chapter 1~  
  
The Uruk-hai were marching south, spears and banners held proudly aloft, and their dark armour shining ferociously in the sunlight. The sunlight. It caught Yutshrug's skin and burnt it, causing him to curse and worm his way deeper into the shadows. He pulled his fur trimmed coat closer to his skin and admired his tattoos on both arms. He was considering getting a few on his thighs as well, to compliment his great selection of piercings. Yutshrug adjusted the plating on his arms and legs before he turned back to the sights and sounds. The rhythmic booming of the army's footsteps and chants slowly faded into the distance, and Yutshrug became aware of padded feet approaching him from behind. He turned to find his teal skinned friend Grôltakh behind him, who was dressed in the aged and torn garments of an Elvish high lord that he had killed more than a century ago. The front of the forest green great coat had been ripped away, revealing some of his chest. The coat length had never been altered, and it dragged along the floor, its ends torn, not meant to be worn by the smaller, fouler creature. The trousers, patterned with time-haggard dragons on the thighs, were held up by pieces of medium width rope that wound around the stomach and both legs. The arms were wound with the same rope up to the elbows. A highly ornate sword sat on his right hip with phoenixes as a decoration, also a trophy from the Elvish high lord. He also had his left cheek bone smudged with brown mud, whilst a lighter shade of the same material had been rubbed over his left eye in a circular shape. There were three rusty golden rings in the tip of his ear, and a ring in his nose, all on the left side of his face. A single, plain band of heavily scratched gold adorned his second-last finger on his right hand. But Grôltakh cared not for the beauty of these things.  
  
"So they've finally gone? Good riddance to the bloody buggers," Grôltakh's voice rasped. "Now we can recover our numbers. Do you have any idea how many of us those Uruks killed?" Yutshrug shrugged in response. "Well I'm glad that Sharkú is gonna let us use the pits to breed some more orcs," he continued. They looked to the south, the chant and march still sounding long after the dark creeping lines had moved out of sight. "Where's Ragnäkah?" Yutshrug finally asked. "Thought he'd be here yelling insults at those Uruk-hai all the way to Helm's Deep," he grinned. "Especially after that Mushtror gave him those nasty little scars on his arms." Grôltakh grinned. "He's been assigned to help get the orc pits up an' running."  
  
*  
  
Many days had passed since the Uruk-hai had left. A few of the chambers were orcs, bred to help in the caverns, but most chambers were more Uruks that were being bred to replace those that would definitely fall at Helm's Deep. They would be needed to assault Gondor later, when the main battle that would decide the fate of Middle Earth would take place. Ragnäkah stood beside one of the breeding chambers, his eyes closed and his right leg folded in front of his left. He held up his hands with the palms turned upwards. Grôltakh and Yutshrug stood nearby, snickering as they watched their friend in this strange position. The meditating orc wore dark, knee-high boots into which he had tucked his baggy trousers, so baggy that they flowed over the rim of the shoes and outdid even Grôltakh's baggy trousers. A whip that doubled as an unneeded belt was wrapped around his waist, made of black creepers twisted into one long lash. Like Grôltakh, a sword rested by his side, and three golden hoops were through his left ear in imitation of him. His shirt was a simple piece of cloth with a hole cut in it for his head and fastened at each side by a loose cross stitch. Over this (though no one knew why) Ragnäkah wore another simple top, with holes cut in for his arms and fastened at the front with another lazy cross stitch and another fastening of thick interwoven threads strewn across once at the bottom of his shirt. A cloak went over these shirts, hiding some of the thin yellowish white fabric that he used to keep the top quarter of his arms covered. Below this were the scars that he had recently obtained from an Uruk, and from his elbows down to his wrists, armlets covered his ochre skin.  
  
"An' remind me what this is supposed to do to ya again, will you Ragnäkah?" Yutshrug grinned. Ragnäkah did not respond. "I think it's supposed to help 'im to relax and all that," Grôltakh answered. Yutshrug blinked at Ragnäkah, then at Grôltakh, and back again before bursting into hysterical laughter. "With his short temper? Ha! He won't be able to! Not our Ragnäkah!" The orc standing as still as a statue (if a very funnily positioned one) began to growl, but did not open his eyes. A large clamouring up above had started, and many of the orcs that were in the caverns rushed to the surface. "What's going on up there?" Yutshrug muttered to his companion. "Don't know. Probably just an assembly, or something like that." At that moment, a newly bred Uruk strided past, making sure to push the meditative orc over as he went by. Yutshrug burst into laughter again, and Ragnäkah lost his temper. He stood up, drew his sword, and with a look of pure maliciousness in his eyes, he began to stalk the Uruk.  
  
Before Ragnäkah had walked even a metre, the sac behind him began to howl and wriggle violently. A new orc was ready. Reluctantly, Ragnäkah put business before pleasure. All three of the orcs stopped what they were doing and began to recklessly pull the sac from its chamber in the wall, ripping it open and allowing the still-blind new-born to suck in its first gasps of the hot stale air. A loud hissing noise could now be heard far above, but it was ignored for the time being; it was most probably steam being released. It slowly began to open its eyes, and it looked in Grôltakh's direction. "'Ere, I think he thinks you're his mummy, Grôltakh," Ragnäkah teased in his high, squeaky voice. The young one's eyes began to focus, and it became obvious that he was not focusing on Grôltakh, but what was behind him. And that was when the orc spoke his first words:  
  
"Oh, bugger."  
  
Puzzled by this, the three other orcs turned around to find a cascade of water had begun flowing into the huge crevice, and beginning to fill up the caverns quite quickly. It soon became even louder than the constant ringing of the hammers, which even now had not quite stopped. "Oh, crap," Ragnäkah gasped. "Oh, bloody 'ell!" Yutshrug shrieked. "Oh, for Sauron's sake! Let's get out of here!" Grôltakh shouted, bringing the two other orcs to their senses. They began running up the steep ground to the next level, and leaving the naked newborn behind.  
  
~End of Chapter One~  
  
A/N: .Gee, wasn't that exciting? Well, I'm done with most of the descriptions of the main characters now, so you may sigh a deep relief that you will not have to endure that many in a chapter again. Reviewing is good. It helps me. Please review. 


	2. The Escape

A/N:  Loading up chapter 1 was such a malarkey – but it's my own fault I guess, loading up the chapter so late at night.  And I should've familiarised myself with the interface first.  But I managed to work out (after many hours) that if I upload it in html format, I can keep the original formatting, so future chapters will be a lot more coherently structured and easy to read.

Chapter 1 Reviews: I have a review!  *Sniff* I feel like a real author now!

Fayth – You're my first reviewer!  I hope this update is soon enough for you! :D  I'll update as often as I can, since I am usually glued to my keyboard.  Seriously – once I start typing, it is very hard for me to stop.  So there will be many chapters and many (hopefully relatively shortly-spaced) updates to come.

~Chapter 2~

Being the fastest runner of the three, Yutshrug was in the lead.  He had no idea where he was running to, or how to get out of the caverns with all of that water, but Grôltakh did.  Grôltakh turned a corner, followed by Ragnäkah, whilst Yutshrug ran onwards.  When he looked back and realised that they weren't following him, he knew that they must have taken the bend, since it was the only other possible exit.  Within no time at all, he had rejoined them.  This time he made sure not to run ahead of Grôltakh.

            "Where are we goin'?"  Ragnäkah panted to Grôltakh.

            "An exit I know of, built for just such an emergency," came the just as breathy reply.  They kept running onwards, and were surprised to see the still naked newborn orc overtake them.  He did not remain naked for long though, as he had the audacity to stop for a moment to steal someone's cloak, which had been discarded in the rush.

Grôltakh came to a sudden stop near to a boulder that had been crowded around by other orcs.  They were attempting to push it out of the way, but to no avail.  The water level was rising quickly, and soon it would reach their level.

            "Oh great!"  Grôltakh raged.  "Whose bloody brilliant idea was it to put a boulder in the way of the exit?"  Of course, no one replied, far more concerned about their lives than of arguing at this moment in time.  A group of Uruk-hai that were running down the tunnel quickly understood what they were trying to do, and ruthlessly hauling the snaga out of the way, they effortlessly pushed the boulder out of the way of the exit.  Without wasting a moment, both breeds of orc rapidly filled the tunnel from cold dark wall to cold dark wall.  By now, the water had reached their level and was beginning to spill over their toes.  The passageway was tortuous and tilted upwards and downwards, with the water always relentlessly following them, hungrily devouring more and more of their legs.  With the knowledge that they might drown, the heat of other bodies pressed close together and the clamour of feet, clanking metal and short, sharp breaths, the moment seemed agonisingly slow.  The tunnel joined with others and became a wider warren.

            "How long does this go on for?"  Yutshrug wailed.  The water had risen to their knees.

            "It can't be much further now!"  And sure enough, the tunnel began to rise, relieving them of some of the water around their legs.  The tunnel became level again, and the bodies came to a sudden halt.

            "What's the hold-up!?"  An Uruk behind them roared.  In front, no more than several metres away, the tunnel made one last twist.  They could hear heavy grunts and the word 'heave!' spoken many times, as if the orcs in front were trying to do something, trying to push something out of the way.

            "It's another boulder!"  Grôltakh cried, realising that they were trapped.  The water had risen up to their knees again.

"Oh, I knew it!  I knew it!  We're goin' to die in here! " Yutshrug wailed, sinking onto his knees and bringing the water up to his chest.  They were so close, and yet so far.  Around the corner, they could hear the grunts as the boulder refused to relent.

~End of Chapter 2~

A/N: Can you steal something that someone has discarded?  Well, our not-so-naked newborn orc did.  This chapter was rather short, wasn't it?  Chapter 3 will be longer and hopefully make up for the lack of length in this one.  I hope that that was a good cliff-hanger for you all, though I'm sure that it's too early for them yet – we're only on chapter two!


	3. Forest & Mountain

A/N:  Onwards – to chapter three!

~Chapter 3~ (like I hadn't told you all already)

Yutshrug was beginning to howl at the top of his lungs, as if the pressure was too much for him.  Grôltakh considered lopping his head off to shut him up.

            "Quiet, you!"  An Uruk bellowed at the snaga on his knees.  "Or I'll give you something to cry about!"  Yutshrug stifled his howling, and managed to restrict it to a small sniffle.  Ragnäkah looked back to the end of the tunnel from where they had come and the countless numbers of orcs behind them, and then he looked towards to the blocked exit.  A faint light was shimmering there, which became a large yellow glow.  Ragnäkah realised what was about to happen and sank into the water like Yutshrug.  Grôltakh stared confusedly from the two orcs crouching in the water to the glowing light near the end of the tunnel.

            "Wha-?!"  There was a deafening explosion and Grôltakh was thrown off of his feet.  Some of the tunnel roof started collapsing, but the river water gushed out, free to flow its course again.  As light shone through, the Uruks in the group forced the snaga out of the tunnel and into the sunlight.  Somehow, the three orcs managed to scramble back onto their knees and crawl out into the world, passing the bodies of dead orcs at the very mouth of the tunnel.  Grôltakh noted that one of them was still clinging a piece of metal in his one hand and some flint in another; they had used some of Sharkú's black powder that turned into exploding flame to open up the exit.

The young newborn lingered in the tunnel shadows, his cloak fully covering his head and hands.  An older orc, Droshbrak was convulsing in the sunlight when he noticed the cloak on the younger orc.

            "'Ere!  You gimme that!"  He yelled, grabbing a corner of the cloak and attempting to pull it off of him.  The cloak opened up, revealing what was – or rather what was not – underneath.  Droshbrak jerked back in shock.

            "Where are your clothes?"

            "Don't have any," the newborn snarled in reply.

            "Well you're going to have none in a minute!"  Droshbrak dived at the cloaked orc, but he wasn't quick enough as the young one ran off into the sunlight and hid behind some of the Uruks, sheltering in their shadows.  "Bloody runt," Droshbrak muttered, cutting his losses and finding another smaller orc to pick on.

Yutshrug surveyed their surroundings.  They were closer to the Misty Mountains, and to Fangorn forest by the looks of it, but Yutshrug could have sworn that Fangorn was over there in the distance.

            "Where'd that fucking forest come from?"  Grôltakh sneered, pointing to the wood nearby.

            "That's Fangorn, isn't it?"  Yutshrug asked.

            "It can't be!  Fangorn is in the distance – you can see where we have hewn down some of its trees.  But this forest nearby doesn't seem damaged at all," Ragnäkah intoned.  Their conversation was interrupted by one of the Uruk-hai, rallying round all of the snaga to lead them to a plan of action.

            "Now gather round you slugs!  We'll not be having any picnics today!  We march to Helm's Deep!"  Grôltakh turned and snorted at the Uruk.

            "Now what would a new-bred know of leadership?  What would you know of the outside world?  I bet this is the first time that you have even left the pits!  And why didn't you Uruk-hai stay and defend your master like you were created to do?"  The Uruks bristled with rage, especially the 'leader'.  He stepped towards Grôltakh, baring his teeth and snarling viciously.  Grôltakh remained unmoved by the performance.

            "I do not have to explain my actions to a lowly crawler such as yourself!  We could not be of any more use to the master there, so we might as well make use of ourselves at the battle."  The Uruk continued his little lecture, but Grôltakh became distracted by something from the nearby forest; an enormous stone.  It flew through the air in a curve and landed on the 'leader'.  The young cloaked orc decided that it might not be so safe by the Uruk-hai after all.

            "Well, he lasted long, didn't he?"  Ragnäkah muttered matter-of-factly, leaning over the crumpled form of the Uruk.  Both Grôltakh and Yutshrug shook their heads in reply, nearly as unresponsive as Ragnäkah.

"I'm not going through that forest, I'm telling ya," Yutshrug muttered.  Grôltakh eyed the forest wearily, before he jumped up onto a rock high above the heads of the others.

            "We shall go to Gondor!"  He proclaimed.  That received some incredulous stares and mutterings.  "The battle of Helm's Deep will be over by the time we get there, so we might as well make ourselves useful elsewhere."  Another stone flew from the forest – aimed at him – and Grôltakh threw himself down from the rock and onto the ground, into the crowd.  The rock smashed against the place where Grôltakh had been standing only moments before, cracking the stone and rumbling down the one side of the hill.  Grôltakh crouched there gaping for the moment on his hands and knees before he recomposed himself.  "Those who want to follow me to Gondor may do so!"  He shouted to them one more time.  And with that, he turned towards the Misty Mountains and began to walk.  Yutshrug and Ragnäkah quickly filed in by his side, followed by other orcs, including the cloaked one.  Reluctantly, after taking one last look at the rock that had killed one of their numbers, the Uruk-hai decided to follow Grôltakh.

            "How are we going to get there?"  Ragnäkah inquired.  "And what about food?"  

"We will go through the mines," he mumbled in reply.  "I have an old friend there – if he hasn't managed to get himself killed – and he has a favour to repay me.  And as for food…"  Grôltakh trenched onwards, looking straight ahead, deep in thought before he made his conclusion.  "We shall see."  As the column of hundreds marched onwards, up towards Moria, Grôltakh shielded his face from the horrendous light of the sun.

~End of Chapter 3~


	4. Not Alone

A/N:  The story isn't already going quite according to plan – and up to that previous chapter was the planned bit… from here on, it isn't.  Tread carefully people – you're heading into dangerous uncharted territory!

Chapter 3 Reviews:

Hel – I'm glad I've caught your interest.  There's lots more chapters to come!

~Chapter 4~

They had been walking for nearly a day, and they seemed no closer to Moria.  For food, some of the orcs that had bows and arrows had managed to shoot down birds, others had been able to catch conies whilst others had decided to fish in the lake nearby a cliff face whilst they had stopped.  They had settled in a dell, where the wind bit less harshly and the snow was more settled.  Trees sparsely popped up here and there, and most seemed as if they did not belong in that snowy clime, as if the mountain had creeped down to them, not that they had gone to the mountain.  Ragnäkah watched the newborn cloaked orc.  He sat staring at his knees, waiting for someone to leave him the bones of their meal to gnaw on; he had no weapons of his own to hunt with, and no one was willing to lend him theirs.  As if his prayers had been answered, a magpie fell into his lap, an arrow piercing its heart.

            "Oi!  That's mine!"  An orc carrying a bow and waving his free fist raged.  "You give that to me!"  The nameless one – as he had come to be known as – paid no attention to the orc's commands, but instead ran up a tree and hid there, devouring the uncooked bird.  The orc with the bow cursed at him all of the time.  "I'll get you – you wait!"  Ragnäkah sniggered.

            "Lucky bastard," he muttered, pointing out what had happened to Yutshrug.  Yutshrug shrugged – as was his manner – and drew his fur-trimmed shirt closer to him, rubbing his bare arms.  He began to wonder if he was going to suffer severe hypothermia soon, since his sleeveless fur neck shirt was blatantly not enough to keep him warm.

            "Wh-wh-wh-wh-where's-s-s-s-s-s G-g-g-g-Grôltakh?"  He shivered.  "I d-d-d-don't want 'im a-a-ab-b-b-bandoning us now th-th-that 'e's put those U-u-u-Uruks as most of his lieutenants.  They'll t-t-t-t-take liberties."  They heard a wolf – or more precisely a warg – howl in the distance and it appeared that Yutshrug was chilled even more to the bone.

            "He put the Uruks as his lieutenants to prevent them from wanting to rise up, to give them something to do – diplomacy and all that crap.  He's over there, by that ruined tree.  I think that he is meant to be looking for an entrance of some sort, hidden in the cliff face.  He didn't seem to be able to find it though.  He thinks that that -" Ragnäkah pointed a pile of rocks, collapsed around a large, boulder-filled crack, "could have been the entrance."  He sighed.  "If it is then we will have to look elsewhere for another entrance."

Grôltakh returned to them only a few moments later, muttering to himself.

            "We can't get in this way," he growled.  "We'll have to…" he faded off, watching the nameless orc and another hunt fish near the lake's edge.  The water was rippling violently, and yet they were barely disturbing the surface.  The nameless one was watching the surface, engrossed, whilst the other's attention was on a fish in the shallows.  The water was suddenly torn by tentacles that wrapped around the hunting orc and pulled him into the depths without so much as a scream from the unwary prey.  A huge clamour went up, and the nameless one scuttled backwards on his hands and feet, barely avoiding the tentacles that reached out towards him.

            "Get away from the water!"  Grôtakh shouted to all of his company.  "For Sauron's sake, get away from the water!"  The orcs didn't need Grôltakh's voice to obey their natural instincts.  Within seconds, a three metre diameter around the lake had been cleared of all apart from four Uruks, who were swinging a snaga backwards and forwards and about to toss him into the murky pool.  Grôltakh would have loved to see the creature in the water devour the orc as much as the Uruks did, but the orc was a fat one, and Grôltakh had decided that they might need to eat him later if food became low.  "Put him down!"  Grôltakh commanded.  They did not obey.  He repeated his command and reluctantly, they dropped the snaga onto the ground, glaring viciously at Grôltakh who had spoiled their fun.

        "Pack up!  We're moving!"  He called to everyone.  He looked back to the water and shook his head.  The nameless one came up to his side, only four inches shorter than Grôltakh.

        "Where to now then?"  The nameless one inquired.

        "There is a small window I know of that lets light into the underground halls of the Dwarves," he explained.  "With some rope, we may be able to get inside, and continue onwards to the other side."  The nameless one nodded and rejoined the group.  The sky above thundered.  It would rain soon.  In the distance, a warg howled once more.

~End of Chapter 4~

A/N:  What a useless chapter that was.  Sorry.


	5. The Entrance

Chapter 4 Reviews:

Hel – I had decided that I should try to add a bit of my humour (God help us all) to this fic, but you know, I hadn't thought about the comedic potential of getting so many orcs in through one window – I should take advantage of this suggestion. *Amilyi begins to furiously type at her keyboard* There!  That should do it!  Thank you for the improvement!

A/N:  Back on some form of a story track…

~Chapter 5~

"I'm hungry!"  Yutgrug complained.  Since Grôltakh had given him a cloak to stop him from complaining about the cold, he had begun complaining about everything else.

"I'm hungry!"  Grôltakh mimicked.  "I'm thirsty!  I'm sleepy!  I want to stop!  Are we there yet Grôltakh?  Why aren't we at Gondor yet Grôltakh?"  Grôltakh shook his fist at Yutshrug before clouting him heavily over the head "Shut up, or I'll make you complain about a bloody nose and a headache!"  Once more, a threat had silenced Yutshrug to a whimper.  Spirits within the group were waning, trust in their leader falling every day because they seemed no nearer to their goal.  There was a question burning in the back of Ragnäkah's mind, but he worried that the answer would not be agreeable.  He would wait until they were alone before he would ask it.  They came to a sudden stop in the middle of nowhere along the middle of a cliff-face path.  Grôltakh looked upwards.  "There it is."

Three metres above them, there was a small craggy opening covered mainly in moss and snow.

"Bloody hell," Ragnäkah whispered.  "How're we all meant t' get through that?"  He asked more loudly.  His friend did not reply.  Grôltakh began to climb upwards and disappeared into the cliff face.  Moments later he reappeared.  "Pass me some rope!"  He called to them down below.  Three long ropes were chucked at him from three different directions, and Grôltakh managed to catch two.  The other fell down and around Yutshrug's head.  Grôltakh disappeared for one more time, before he finally returned again.  "Come on up!  It's not the first entrance that I would have chosen, but we can all fit through and it's easier to get in than some of the others!"  Ragnäkah was the first to climb up, deftly swinging through the window and down the rope onto the other side.

The room was enormous, with a high vaulted ceiling and many cold grey pillars decorated in small, almost unnoticeable scrawls and text.  Orkish and dwarvish bodies lay scattered across the floor, some mauled before death, others mutilated afterwards.  It was just another consequence of one of the wars to him.  There were many windows in this room, but there weren't any as big as the one that Grôltakh had led them through.  Ragnäkah turned towards Grôltakh.

            "Erm…"  Grôltakh's head snapped around from the window to him, a glare on his face.

            "What?"  He snarled.  Ragnäkah tried to remain passive, but he didn't enjoy being snarled at.  His voice took on the strained tone of repressed anger and malevolence.

            "I was going to ask: have you ever led before?"  He received a growl as a reply, and then Grôltakh finally spoke.

            "A small band of orcs, yes - but never a group this big."  Ragnäkah's fear had been realised.

            "Brilliant," he sighed.  "Absolutely, bloody brilliant."

Yutshrug was next in, clumsily pulling himself up the cliff face, slipping every now and again, tangling himself in the rope and falling down onto the floor on his face on the inside of the mountain.

            "Three through, three hundred and thirty four or so to go," Ragnäkah grinned.

Ragnäkah turned and watched as several orcs seemed to have been thrown down from the window.  One look up to see an uruk there confirmed that this was true, and before the orcs had time to pick themselves up, baggage was thrown on top of them.  Each orc let out a collective grunt.  Now if the Uruk-hai could keep this pace up, then maybe they would all be inside before tea time.  Now that was a very Yutshrug-ish thought.  The uruk returned with more bags, and tried to put it through the gap.  It wouldn't fit through lengthways, but widthways it would.  However, this particular uruk had about as much intelligence as Yutshrug, and did not figure this fact out for himself as he kept trying to jam it through the window lengthways.  Grôltakh slapped a hand to his eyes and shook his head.  Ragnäkah felt the same way.  Perhaps they would be here even _longer than previously thought._

~End of Chapter 5~

A/N:  Heh heh – I now have this amusing mental image of an uruk forcing several snaga through this gap that's barely wide enough for two.  Hmm, it doesn't feel finished.  I know it's short – I didn't have long to write this.  From now on, I will not groan in any way about chapter length (unless I am replying to a review, of course) :D .


	6. Waitings & Writings

Chapter 5 Reviews:

Hel – Another much needed suggestion for padding!  I'm not sure if I'll be able to use them all of the time, but where I feel they could be used to improve to story, I'll use them.  And as for the reaction of the Moria orcs to their 'guests'… we'll see. : )

A/N:  Chapters around this section of the story seemed to have decreased in length – I know of two upcoming chapters that are barely over 400 words – scarcely worth reading because they are so short.  Since this is my first fanfiction, I'll be sure to learn from my mistakes, and not repeat them in the future.  This just another one of those place description/talk chapters.  Please bear with me – it'll pick up by the next chapter – promise!

~Chapter 6~

It seemed like an age had passed before all of the orcs and Uruk-hai had climbed through the window and into the hall, taking with them all of the weapons and other useful items that they had fled with from Isengard.  Had a 'not so slender' uruk not managed to get himself wedged between the sides of the windows with his backpack on, they would have probably finished getting everyone through long ago.  Especially if some of those orcs had not decided to 'help' get him out.  It had ended with a small skirmish and a large bloodbath.  Grôltakh had somehow managed to take control of the situation before too much noise was made and too many soldiers were either killed or injured, and now they were only waiting for the more serious wounds that had been inflicted in the skirmish to be tended to and healed.

Sentries had been posted by the doors to warn of any unwelcome company approaching.  The orcs had managed to remain surprisingly quiet considering their numbers and how it was their nature to be as ruthless and raucous as they saw fit.  But perhaps the air surrounding the mines had caused them to realise the potential danger they could be in.  After all, the Moria orcs did not know that they were coming, and it had not been said that they would be greeted with open arms.

Ragnäkah had been studying the pillars, most notably one only a few feet away from the doors on the left side of the hall.  Near the base, there were the definite markings of an orkish language.  Some of the words he could decipher for himself, having similarities with the orkish languages of Orthanc and Mordor, whilst other parts he could not.  It seemed to be directions to different places overlayed with curses, warnings – and messages to someone called 'Gob'  One of these messages to 'Gob' he managed to translate almost fully:

**_Dear Gob, I need three spears, two swords and a bottle of wine by Thursday.  If you do not do this for me, then I will cause considerable harm to your-_** the writing overlapped with others and couldn't be read **_-when I see you next._**

**_            Kurzblod._**

Ragnäkah scratched his head and sighed.

            "What a strange people," he thought aloud.

            "Hey you!"  The nameless orc shouted at him, breaking the uneasy near-quiet of the group.

            "I'm Ragnäkah!"  Ragnäkah replied, growling at the insolent tones of the minor.

            "Whatever.  We're moving!"  The two orcs rejoined Yutshrug and Grôltakh at the head of the group, walking side-by-side.  "So…" the nameless one turned to Grôltakh.  "You were the guys who brought me into this world."

            "As such, yes," Grôltakh replied, eyeing the orc from the side.

            "Well…"

            "Well, what?"

            "Aren't you gonna name me then?  Isn't that kind of a tradition that happens?"

            "I ain't gonna name you," Grôltakh replied.  Ragnäkah told the nameless one the same thing.

            "So what am I going to do for a name, then?"  He asked them.

            "Choose one yourself," Ragnäkah muttered, getting fed up of the youngster's company.  But the young orc couldn't think of a name for himself; that was why he was asking them.  The nameless one looked towards Yutshrug with an expression that on an orc, almost looked pleadingly.

            "Aren't you going to find a name for me?"  Yutshrug shrugged.  The conversation came to an abrupt end, and for a while they continued to walk in silence.

            "So… you going t' get yourself some clothes?"  Yutshrug asked the nameless one.

            "No," he replied.  Grôltakh, Yutshrug and Ragnäkah all turned to gape at him.  The nameless one suddenly broke into a wide grin to show that he was joking, and then the smile vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.  "There ain't really anythin' that I've seen that hasn't fallen apart when I went to take it," he muttered, pulling his cloak - his only clothing closer to his body.

More time passed in silence whilst Grôltakh tried to find his way around the mines.  Sometimes they came to dead ends, where paths and bridges had crumbled away. Other times Grôltakh made a mistake and they found themselves in a room with no other doors, and they would have to back up the way that they had come.  But at least they were happy in the darkness, away from the torturous light of the sun, even if it did feel unwelcoming.  The time came for rest, and they settled in another large hall of the dwarves, piling orc and dwarf bodies up carelessly so that more space could be created.  Then, when no more space was available, the bones were thrown down into the crevices of the mountain, each making a unique noise as they fell.  Of course, they had been searched first for anything of interest, but the residents inhabiting Moria in these recent times had already raided the dead.

~End of Chapter Six~

A/N:  Now I will go and fulfil my promise to you about picking up the pace.


	7. A Fall From Grace

Chapter 6 Reviews:

Schattentanz – Thank you!  I'm glad that you like it!  I did wonder about whether to go to Mordor or Gondor, but in the end I chose Gondor.  This is because Gôltakh believes that by the time that they get across the plains of Rohan and into Gondor, Rohan would be in the control of the Uruk-hai and Minas Tirith would have fallen to Sauron's forces, or at least that there would be forces there to join.  But I'm glad that you've pointed it out to me – it shows that you're looking into the storyline and criticism is needed for improvement.

I also took a look at your fanfictions, but I'm afraid my German is 'nicht sehr gut'.  Still, with the help of a German dictionary, my knowledge of the German language, and a webpage translator, I managed to translate 'Rain in the Forest' into English.  Just not very well.  I think I got the basic idea of the story though, and it was interesting to look at a story that focuses on the morals and principals of the 'good' characters, and how dilemmas can evoke emotions.

~Chapter Seven~

Ragnäkah couldn't sleep; he felt as if something was watching him from the shadows, and his belt/whip was cutting off his oxygen.  He no longer had his sword; he had had to 'give' it away to an unarmed uruk, who was very persistent.  He didn't mind too much though – as long as he had his whip, his favourite weapon.

Most of the other orcs were asleep, with one or two here and there watching into the endless darkness.  They had been here for a few hours, and soon it would be time to move on again.  Sighing, he stood up and took the belt off, hiding it under the cloak that was his bed.  He took a step, and his trousers fell down to his knees, held up only by his boots.  He must have lost a lot of weight since he had been in Isengard if they could fall that much.  The nameless orc burst into hysterical laughter, waking up a few others.  Thankfully, Ragnäkah managed to pull up his trousers before anyone else could see his underpants.  Well, at least he had underpants, which was more than that youngster did.

Grumbling, and in a terrible mood, he held up his trousers – rather than put the belt back on and have his oxygen cut off – and went to the furthest pillar where he thought he had seen something move.  He peered around, but saw nothing.  There was a sound above him, and when he turned his gaze upwards, he caught sight of a creature scuttling up into a crack in the roof, and three pairs of eyes gazed down at him; Moria scouts.  He would have to tell Grôltakh.  He cursed loudly to himself – they could not be good, even if Grôltakh had been friends with one of them.  He returned to the main group, and walked past his belongings – but paused.  His cloak had been disturbed and his whip was gone.  He picked his cloak up and looked around on the floor to see if it was nearby, but there was not a trace of it to be found.

            "Who's taken my whip?!"  Ragnäkah demanded.  Of those awake, none responded with more than a smirk.  The snickering of the nameless one caught his attention.  "Do you know anything about this?  Tell me, worm or I'll cut your throat with my bare fingernails!"  The runt pulled back his cloak to reveal a dark green open shirt with no sleeves, similar in style to Ragnäkah's over top, and a light brown rag that went around his middle and thighs and was held up by a thin black belt.

Ragnäkah quivered with rage.

            "You traded my whip for that?"  His whip had been worth twice as much as the orc had gotten from it, and someone in the camp was probably chuckling to themselves as they slept at getting the upper hand in such an unfair trade.  The nameless one grinned his most terrible grin at him.  "You traded my… my…" Ragnäkah would have probably tried to control his anger if it was any other possession that the orc had taken and traded, but it had been his whip, the one that he had had since he was but a century old.  Ragnäkah held back no longer; he charged at the young orc, screaming and holding his hands out in front of him.  The trousers dropped back around his knees and the nameless orc let out another cackle, which was quickly stifled by Ragnäkah's hands around his throat.  Sentries moved around the two orcs squabbling on the floor, encouraging Ragnäkah on and for the nameless one to fight back.  Grôltakh was awoken by the fight, and within seconds was awake enough to be enraged by it.

            "Stop this at once!"  He told the orcs on the floor, to no avail.  "Ragnäkah, get off of him!"  But Grôltakh had seen Ragnäkah like this before, and there was no way that he was going to stop throttling the younger orc until his anger had been satiated.

The two rolled closer to a cavern in the floor, and Ragnäkah saw his chance to be rid of the youngster so that he could not do anything like this again.  In the struggle the younger orc managed to get on top of him, and Ragnäkah found his head over the brink of the crevice, but instead of being afraid, he leered up at the orc.

"Watch the crevice!"  Grôltakh warned them, unaware of what Ragnäkah was trying to do.  For a moment, confusion was on the youngster's face, but then startling realisation crept in.  Ragnäkah bucked the nameless orc up and over his head and into the crack.  However, the nameless orc had a grip on his shirt, and Ragnäkah was pulled in head-first with him.  Their screams could be heard echoing down the chasm.

Grôltakh ran over to the edge, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the two.

            "Oh bugger," he muttered.  He turned to Yutshrug, who had been watching the whole thing calmly from his sleeping place on the floor nearby, a hand on his cheek.  "Do you think that we'll ever see them again?"  Yutshrug shrugged.

~End of Chapter 7~

A/N:  Did I fulfil my promise to you all?  More fighting scenes to come!


	8. No Waits

A/N:  Now in this chapter we have a scene split – thank God!  Now this is a device that I have commonly used before and I am used to, so I will be a lot happier with this fic and more focused.  _And_ you won't get bored following all of them going the same way now!

~Chapter 8~

The young orc didn't know how long they had fallen for, hitting into the cavern sides; he didn't care either.  He just wanted to get that other orc off of his neck.  He kicked and bit, but to no gain.  He had not realised that Ragnäkah would get as angry as this, if he had, then he would have tried to steal the whip a lot earlier and trade it: this was amusing him greatly.  They fell into a small basin with water cascading over the edges that had been gathered from the caverns for the past millenniums, and the cold shock caused the two to pull apart from each other.  They clung to opposite sides of the basin, gasping for oxygen and chilled to the bone.  Slowly, their panting stopped and the glaring began.  Silence ensued before Ragnäkah had recovered enough to resume choking him.  The nameless one was held over the edge, this time the positions of the two reversed, and he struggled to get away.  Inevitably, he fell out, taking Ragnäkah with him once more, and the two fell onto the hard cold floor.  This was only halfway down the crevice, and all over the place there were ledges and jagged paths that led only to the impenetrable rock face.  The nameless one looked upwards and cackled.

            "Let's do that again!"  Before he had time to react, Ragnäkah was back on his feet, and trying to pulverise the orc once more.

                                                                                                  *

"So we're goin' ta leave without 'em then?"  Yutshrug asked.

"Well, I ain't gonna wait 'ere for two corpses to get up an' find their way back here," Grôltakh muttered.  "What a fool Ragnäkah is!  I thought that with his knowledge and age he would have accumulated some wisdom as well.  But _nooooo_ – not our irascible Ragnäkah!  Our irritable idiot!"  _But who will help me guide them now?_  He thought to himself.  Despite all of the names he could find for Ragnäkah, Ragnäkah was far from a fool and an idiot.  He had been his counsel even before this journey, and now Ragnäkah was not there for him to give recommendations.  He still had Yutshrug, true, but Yutshrug _was an idiot – a simple idiot to be more precise.  He would always be a follower, never a leader.  Grôltakh picked up a food and medicine bag, and turned to his followers.  "We move!"  They filed into clumsy lines, avoiding the cracks – and the same fate as the nameless one and Ragnäkah – and they trudged onwards.  They may have moved silently considering their numbers, but the ambience in the group was deafening, smothering, and fearful.  Grôltakh knew that unless he did something soon to lead them out, violence was going to happen.  Grôltakh knew that they would rebel._

                                                                                                 *

After managing to prise Ragnäkah away from his neck for a fifth time, the nameless one decided that it was time to be serious.

            "So… ahhhm, where are we?"

            "In Moria," Ragnäkah grumbled sarcastically, whilst unwinding the bandage around his top left arm to use to hold up his trousers.

            "Oh, come on!  You know what I mean," the youngster grinned.  Ragnäkah sighed.

            "No, I don't."

            "Don't know what I mean or don't know where we are?"

            "The latter."

            "Ah."  A stifling silence developed between the two of them.  Ragnäkah looked around for a path to walk along and found something of a sort.  He dropped down another foot or so, and picked out a route of a kind.  The nameless orc followed.

~End of Chapter 8~


	9. Meetings

Chapter 8 Reviews:

Hel – I bet none of you readers are going to read this long reply unless you get bored and have nothing better to do whilst waiting for the next chapter.  Anyways, I was going to keep the Moria orcs all mysterious, but I do want to please my reviewers and I do listen to all comments and suggestions, so yes – they will get their own little section in this story!  And as for the Uruk-hai obeying Grôltakh, I do agree – it's very convenient.  I like to think that Grôltakh is very charismatic.  Very, _very charismatic.  Sometimes (even though I hate them) these conveniences have to be accepted, like how in 'The Hobbit' (Spoiler warning) the Eagles were conveniently around to save Bilbo, Gandalf and the rest of Thorin's company from the Goblins of the Misty Mountains.  *Sniggers at the mental image of an Istari climbing up and into a tree*  And the rebellion isn't going to take long – not long at all : ) [hint hint hint].  And lastly, as for this period where no one is getting killed - it isn't going to last much longer *rubs hands together in sadistic glee*.  Bwahahahahahahahaha!_

A/N:  I have given up on trying to get the stars (asterisks) aligned in the centre; I have tried the 'align centre' feature in Microsoft Word – fanfiction.net does not acknowledge it and puts the stars to the left, I have tried tab, and the stars still go to the left, and then I tried to use the space bar to align them perfectly in the centre of the document.  The result?  The stars go anywhere and everywhere along their line, especially when your screen is of a certain resolution.  Well, some things in life are sent to annoy you.

~Chapter 9~

They had watched from far above as the two orcs fought and fell into the crevice, and observed as another orc took charge – of all the things in a group with a large number of Uruk-hai!  And, (quite luckily) the orc that had spotted them had been in the struggle, and had fallen down the crevice along with that other orc that he had been fighting with.  This meant that whoever these newcomers were, they did not yet know that they had been spotted and found out.  The three scouts returned to the main tunnels and stealthily crawled their way forwards and upwards, making a turn every now and again, knowing instinctively where they were and where they were heading in the complete darkness.  Soon enough, they came to a hole directly above them and a small amount of light from above ebbed its way into the tunnel.  The three scouts climbed out of the hole, one after the other and into the main hall of the orc chief.

The hall was in ruins and appeared ready to collapse at any moment.  At least four pillars were completely destroyed – and possibly three of these had been demolished by a cave troll that had been the chief's entertainment in recent years.  Directly in the centre of the hall, there was a crudely fashioned throne, chained to which there were two rotting corpses – one on each side.  When they had been alive, they had been foolish enough to try to cross the Misty Mountains at night, and when their screams and pleas had faded into their deaths, the orc chief had kept them there still; he liked the smell of their corpses.  And upon the throne was the orc chief himself: Yishvruk, bathed in the dim glow of a small flickering torch behind his throne.  He was a very rotund orc, and the remnants of his leather trousers were the only things that kept him from being completely naked.  Tarnished silver rings went horizontally down the left side of his face, and tattoos covered the rest of his body.  The three orc scouts stepped forwards to him together, and he leaned towards them, grimacing, and awaiting their news.

            "There is a large orc and Uruk-hai presence in the south west halls on the lower levels," one of the scouts told him.  "Possibly between three hundred and four hundred."  A sound came from their right, and for the first time, the scouts noticed the armour belonging to some orc of high power, but they could not see the face because a broken pillar was in the way, and the rest was shrouded in shadow.

            "Did you get a good look at the leader?"  Chief Yishvruk asked them.

            "We were… unsure of whom the leader was," the third scout began.  "But there was one orc that did seem to take control of the situation."  The armour in the corner stirred again.

            "Describe him," the callous tones that belonged to the orc bearing the armour demanded.

            "He was…" the second scout began, trying to remember what he looked like.  "Teal skinned, and he wasn't wearing the normal orc apparel, no!  It was – was a time torn greatcoat of green tones, belonging to some conquered enemy, perhaps.  And there was a sword at his side.  It looked elvish in design."

            "Did he have any piercings?  Any tattoos?"  The armour asked, though he sounded as if he knew who it was.

            "We were too far away to see," the first orc scout replied.  The armour snarled a low, deep snarl.

            "Let me deal with him," the orc in the armour asked.  The chief nodded, and when the orc scouts looked back, the armour had moved from the shadows and was gone.

                                                                                                                                *

"I don't think that our 'leader' is leading us anywhere – except to our deaths!"  One orc muttered loud enough for Grôltakh's ears to hear.  They were in yet another exceptionally large hall, and the voices reverberated easily.

"Our supplies ain't gonna last us much longer at this rate if he keeps leading us to dead ends," an Uruk growled.  "I think one of us Uruk-hai should take over," he continued.  To this, Grôltakh turned around and confronted him.  The uruk was Uthrutz, whom he had expected to rebel.

"An' where would this 'Uruk-hai leader' take you, Urthrutz?"  He asked the Uruk.  "Would 'e take you back to Isengard?  Or through those strange trees?  Because I'll tell y' all now that the conditions won't change!  No, my lads!  The only way is forwards!"

"Forwards to our deaths?"  Another orc sneered, who had really just repeated what the first orc had said.

"Forwards to the bridge of Khazad-dum; once across that we shall be on the other side of Moria, and we shall rest and hunt before we follow along the river to Gondor."

            "And which way is this bridge?"  Urthrutz growled.  "You have no idea where we are, do you?  You're leading us wherever you please!"  The orcs and Uruks behind Uthrutz jeered, and those with swords or spears clashed them against shields or the floor.

            "_You chose t' follow me!"  Grôltakh raged.  "__You chose if you wanted t' go t' Gondor by _my_ route!  And _you_ still 'ave the choice to turn back now if you so please.  And I do know where we are, for I have been here before!"  Grôltakh lied.  The group fell silent.  Reluctantly, Grôltakh turned his back on the rebellious group and his eyes met the gaze of a figure in the shadows in front of him._

The man's armour was an impressive and intimidating array of metal edged with bone, covering his entire body from head to foot.  The individual had malicious grey eyes, which were nearly the same colour as his black, mostly grey hair that was tied back by more bones.  The figure was calmly spinning a large curved sword between his hands, gazing straight at Grôltakh.  And calm he might have been; Yutshrug tugged at his shoulder and made him aware of the archers and swordsmen above his head, clinging to the pillars.  And a group emerged behind the lone orc with the sword.

            "Well," the harsh voice of the lone orc said cheerily, "I wasn't expecting to see you here, _Golug-bûrzum_."

~End of Chapter 9~

A/N/:  And you won't find out who 'Golug-bûrzum' is until the next few chapters – though I'm sure that there are those of you out there who have already worked out who it is and what this name means.


	10. And 'Greetings'

Chapter 9 Reviews:

Hel – I see what you mean about there must be something more than charisma in Grôltakh for why the orcs follow him.  To be honest, I think that I've watered down his character a bit too much and his vicious side hasn't had a chance to shine through yet.  I'll have to do something about that.  The orc chief, Yishvruk doesn't wear any armour because he is too fat to be comfortable in armour and to be honest, he doesn't like it.  But if you're looking for a more technical answer, it's because he is actually meant to be based upon the picture of the Great Goblin in The Hobbbit – not a lot, but a little – which should explain why he is fat and doesn't wear any armour.  Speaking of The Hobbit, I had forgotten about the debt between the Eagle King (or whatever it is – I should still be able to remember since I read it recently) and Gandalf but you all see what I mean about coincidences, don't you?  Also, I'd like to thank you for being my most frequent reviewer, so… thanks!

~Chapter 10~

Ragnäkah stole through the shadows, trying to avoid being spotted by the presence that he could feel all around him. He was no longer afraid of being found by orcs, but something much worse.  He wished that he had a weapon right now – any weapon.  He thought about his sword and what the Uruk that had taken it was doing with it now: torturing snaga, making threats, putting it to every use that he could find… but Ragnäkah's mind dwelt more on his favourite weapon – his whip – than on his sword, and where his beloved device of pain could be now. _Oh, if only I 'ad my whip right now!  He thought.  He would have used it on the nameless one and put him into his place. But that little runt that was following him had traded it… fresh anger swelled up inside of Ragnäkah, and he contemplated killing the younger orc for the ninth time in the last five minutes. He decided against it; if creatures did come, he could chuck the nameless one at them as food and escape. He still wanted that whip though, and his anger did not subside._

The younger orc ran in front of him and blocked his path.

"Are you sure this is a way out?" He asked, putting his hands on his hips and cocking his head to one side.  Ragnäkah snarled at his insolent body language and looked at him directly in the eyes, his own full of daggers for the young orc.

"I never said I was sure that this led anywhere. In fact, I wasn't sure o' the route we were takin' even when we _were on marked paths in Moria!" The orc harrumphed and folded his arms, as if Ragnäkah had just greatly disappointed him. Ragnäkah pushed past him violently, and continued his wanderings, trying to find a way back above and onto a route once more. He paused when the small ravine opened up into a huge gully, and looked down. The darkness was eternal and complete, and no light would ever pierce it without dire consequences. As he admired this immense, sinister beauty, something plopped down onto a stone to the right of his head. His gaze immediately turned and met with a pair of small, bulging black eyes. Surprised, Ragnäkah threw himself back against the cliff face and gasped short breaths inwards._

The creature looked similar to dragons, only it stood upright, did not have such a long neck and had webbed hands and feet and long, curved claws decorated the end of each of its fingers.  Ragnäkah's guess was that the creature lived in the cold waters underground, but was adapted for land as well. It opened its mouth and hissed at him, revealing many rows of jagged teeth. He wasn't going to put his fingers anywhere near it – that he was sure of. The nameless one looked at the creature and grinned widely.

"Looks like our dinner has come to us," the orc said hungrily, rubbing his hands together with harmful intent.

"Looks like it thinks the same thing," Ragnäkah retorted. Another one of the little creatures came along, plopping itself onto the stone from above, and soon the two became three. Ragnäkah looked upwards, but he could not pinpoint where they were coming from. One of the little creatures looked at him, and growling deeply in its throat, pounced upon his arm, digging its teeth around his wrist. Ragnäkah began to shriek wildly, caring not if all of Moria could hear him and all of Isengard as well. He held his hand out over the unending darkness and shook his arm violently, trying to get the little bugger loose. The 'little bugger' however, was clinging on with every single tooth it had, holding on for dear life and a better taste of the orc's blood. To all of this, the younger orc laughed and fell over onto his backside, unable to contain his amusement and delight at this strange scene before him. That is, until one of the little things decided that his nose looked rather tasty.  His amusement was then quickly cut short.

            "Aaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!"  The nameless one screamed.  "Where's yoor soord?!  Where's yoor soord?!"  He yelled at Ragnäkah, his speech hindered by the creature clinging to his nose.

            "I don' 'ave it!  I don' 'ave it!"  Ragnäkah replied, repeating the same sentence as the nameless one had done, refusing to take his eyes off the thing that had attached itself to his wrist and continuing to try to shake off the small beast.  He was having no effect whatsoever.

            "Why no'?  Why no'!"  The nameless one replied, keeping to this pattern of saying the same sentence twice, and being unsuccessful in removing the little beast on his nose.  For the first time, the nameless one regretted trading Ragnäkah's whip.

            "When someone twice yer height twice yer strength and twice yer weight wants yer weapon y' don't argue with 'em!"  Ragnäkah retorted, still attempting to remove the demonic thing.  The thing is, Ragnäkah _had tried to claim back his sword the moment that the Uruk had tried to take it, and if Yutshrug had not dragged him away from the Uruk as quickly as he could (with Ragnäkah resisting and calling the Uruk every single name he could come up with every inch of the way that Yutshrug dragged him) he probably would have been a lot more dead than alive.  He wasn't going to tell the nameless one that, though.  "Quick – get em' off and run for it! I think I can see others comin'!"_

            "I can' ge' ih off!  'Elp me!"  The nameless one asked Ragnäkah, and the two began tugging at the small demonic things on each others' body parts.  It did not help at all, and the only thing that they did manage to do was to increase the other orc's pain.  Two more of the monsters jumped at them.  One bit into the nameless one's ankle and one managed to jump up and bite at the very top of the inside of Ragnäkah's right thigh, barely missing his body's most pain prone organ.  If the two orcs could have increased the noise that they were making, then they did.

Within minutes, more of the little beasts had come to watch the sight of the two orcs jumping up and down, in a failing attempt to remove the creatures from various parts of their bodies.

~End of Chapter 10~


	11. The Armoury

A/N:  I didn't get my two reviews that I asked for.  How very disappointing.  And it's not like I was asking for _that much.  Well, I'll answer the review I got._

Chapter 10 Reviews:

Hel – I'm happy you like my little creatures! (I'm trying to avoid using the word 'glad' – in my opinion, I've used it too much to respond to reviews already)  I know what you mean about the nameless one should learn something from what happened, but you're not sure what – I feel the same way.  Perhaps the nameless one will learn something from this encounter, but I doubt it – he's too stubborn and refuses to see what's directly in front of him (I'm sure there's a word for that, but I can't think what it is right now).  I'll show you more of Grôltakh's vicious side, but I'm not going to tell you anything about how he earned his nickname – at least not in this story, anyway.  Yes, my dear readers – horror of horrors! – I'm planning a prequel.  And you thought (hoped) it would all be over at the end of this adventure.

~Chapter 11~

Ragnäkah and the nameless orc ran as fast as they could, a group of the little terrors on their trail, chirruping amongst themselves as if urging each other onwards. Both of the orcs had their hands between their legs, protecting their most sensitive body parts from the little bastards as they ran along. They creatures were catching up with them quickly, and if Ragnäkah and the nameless one didn't watch it, soon the little creatures would be tearing the flesh off of them as well. They had managed to find a path and were higher up than they were before, with rooms that led off of the main route but had no doors to keep their pursuers out. Ragnäkah contemplated if this was the time that he had been waiting for to throw his companion away whilst he made his getaway.  He decided not – he would build up the creatures' appetites more first. They passed a large crevice in the canyon walls and both skidded to a halt, sharing the same line of thought.  Both had noticed that there were weapons in there. They ran back and into the crevice. Once inside they noticed that it was not a crevice, but a room – and it had a door. Together, they pushed the slightly rotting, ruined door into place and locked it with spears and swords that were scattered on the floor. The little devils squeaked on the outside of the door, not about to give up even if they could not get to their prey.

After making sure twice that the door was going to hold, they turned to survey the room. For one thing, there were no windows or doors to escape from, or ways in for the creatures for that matter. From the amount of weapons in the room, it had been an armoury, belonging to the dwarves. Here and there, there was a table with plans and more weapons. In the corner were two skeletons, one of a dwarf, and one of an orc, the orc body hunched over the dwarf, and a sword in the dark creature's hand sticking through the rib cage of the dwarf. Another dusty skeleton sat in the corner, belonging to another orc, an axe in his hands and its head pierced with two arrows. Ragnäkah guessed that they must have all killed each other.  Perhaps the dwarf had used the bow to take out the one orc, and severely wounded the other whose skeleton was now leaning over him.  In retaliation, perhaps the orc with the sword had killed the dwarf with his last dying gasps.

The nameless one immediately began to plunder the dead, looking for everything from weapons to clothing; he still needed boots, and the leg and arm armour that the orc was wearing would suit him nicely. Ragnäkah was more interested with something he had seen on one of the tables though. The table he walked up to had three spears, two swords and a bottle of wine on it, and Ragnäkah immediately thought of Gob and the message from Kurzblod. He began to wonder if the two orcs in here were the two mentioned in the writing on the pillar, and if Kurzblod had carried out his threat on Gob. He doubted that both thoughts were true. Pushing the spears onto the floor, he found a small, brownish black amulet inset with a blood red stone.  It wasn't really the time to be ensnared by a little trinket, but something drew Ragnäkah to it, and he picked it up. The writing on the edge of the thing was the Black Speech of Lugbûrz – something Grôltakh knew better than him.  Ragnäkah could only read the Black Speech of Orthanc, and a little of the orcish languages of Moria, the far north _and_ Lugbûrz. He put it around his neck and decided that he (or Grôltakh, if he ever saw him again) would translate it later. Right now he wanted to get out of the armoury, and he picked up the less rusty of the two swords on the table. Of course, he would have preferred his whip (malevolence rose in him again at the thought of where it could be now) but a sword would make do for the time being. The other orc had decided to take the ankle high boots of the skeletal, sword-wielding orc, as well as the armour. He was finishing the last straps on his right arm. Altogether, his new armour was protecting his knees up to his shins, his outer thighs, and he was wearing a set of fingerless gauntlets as well. The orc finally had a full set of clothes.

"We're going to get out of here," Ragnäkah told him. "So prepare to fight those things." The nameless one had never fought before, and excitement gleamed in those forest green eyes of his. He yanked the sword out of the dwarf, and snatched the scabbard from around the orc's shoulder and ribs, causing both skeletons to crumple to dust. Ragnäkah sneezed. The orc wiped away the dust on the sword to reveal its true shape; by design, it was made by elves, but by the grim, black and light blue edge and the script on the blade, it had been for orcs. It's style had long since gone out of prduction. The most reasonable assumption was that slaves had made it for some great orc tribe long ago, and it had come to rest here through the ages.  The blade also had a stone near the very top of the hilt on the one side of the blade, but the nameless one did not pay its shape or its colour attention.

There was a terrible shriek from outside, and the nameless one ran to the door to investigate. He peered through one of the door's many cracks.

"Uh-oh," he gasped.

"Uh-oh?" Ragnäkah asked, not at all liking the tone in the other's voice.

"Looks like the little creatures brought along some bigger company."

~End of Chapter 11~


	12. Choices

Chapter 11 Reviews:

Hel – Yes, the nameless one has finally gotten himself a full set of clothes – so he'll no longer need to steal from Ragnäkah or anyone else now, will he?  I was hoping that the scene where Ragnäkah and the nameless one were running away from the little chirping creatures, shielding their most 'precious parts' would be funny, so I am delighted that I made you laugh! ^.^  The prequel is coming along… slowly.  I have the basic storyline in my head, along with some of the details in some parts, but it's just a case of finding the time to write it all down.  But don't worry, because it's all there, and this story still has quite a way to go before it ends anyway!

Well onto the story now.  Enjoy!

~Chapter 12~

"_Golug-bûrzum__,_" Grôltakh mused. "Now I 'aven't been called that in a long while." In Westron, Golug-bûrzum meant 'Elf-darkness', the darkness being the one that is part of death. He calmly swaggered forwards, ignoring the spears that were shaken at him in warning, though inside, his heart was pounding. "Are you the chief o' Moria now, Lèkfrêtz? I thought you would never get rid of that pompous old shit, Yishvruk." Lèkfrêtz stopped leaning on his sword but continued to still rotate it, whilst eyeing Grôltakh with something close to amusement.

"That 'pompous old shit' is still in charge of us Moria orcs," Lèkfrêtz replied, "But I am now second-in-command. And as such, I cannot allow you t' pass." The Moria orcs clambered down the pillars and surrounded the group of Isengarders. If a fight did break out, then it looked like it was to have about even numbers, and if Grôltakh organised his followers correctly, then he might be able to beat them. But diplomacy was not yet gone. "You are trespassing on our ground, the penalty for which is death," Lèkfrêtz continued.

"Haven't you heard, Lèkfrêtz? Have you been hiding up here so long? War is upon us! We go at the summons of the Great Lord himself to the battle of Gondor!" At this, a few of the members in Grôltakh's group began to mumble, but they were soon silenced with a look from him. As long as Lèkfrêtz thought that they were doing the business of the Great Lord himself, they would not stop him. Lèkfrêtz's eyebrows did rise, but he did not seem ready to let them past. "Don't you remember the old favour I did for you, Lèkfrêtz? You still owe me fer it." Lèkfrêtz burst into laughter and picked up his sword, putting Grôltakh and himself closer together, and their armies further behind.

"I cannot do favours for you, even if I owe you; no' when I have a job to do. The Chief will not be pleased, oh, no." Lèkfrêtz circled Grôltakh for a while, before he came to a decision. "I will make you this offer, Grôltakh, and only this one," Lèkfrêtz proclaimed. "You can leave Moria unhindered, and un-helped. You will leave without taking anything, be it water, food or weaponry. But if you do not leave Moria by the time sun sets today, then when the darkness reigns the skies, we shall hunt you down and kill you." To this the Moria orcs cheered their second-in-command, content with such a deal. Grôltakh grew suspicious; it was not like Lèkfrêtz to make bargins. With him the answer was either yes or no, no conditions. He knew that they were close to the bridge, but how close? Before he accepted or declined the deal, he looked for a window to the outside world to tell him if it was morning, noon or night, but he saw none. Reluctantly, he accepted. The Moria orcs melted back away into the shadows, but Lèkfrêtz lingered a little longer.

"I'll see you later, Grôltakh," he grinned forebodingly, before he too disappeared into the cloaking darkness. _Not if I can help it you won't._ He pushed the company onwards, aware that he could not afford to make any more mistakes.  But it was at this moment that Urthrutz decided to fully rebel.

"I've 'ad enough of you leadin' us about!  You said you knew where you were goin', but you don't!  You said it wouldn't take us that long t' get through Moria, and it has!  And whoever you friend was back there now wants us all dead!  Some leader you turned out to be!  I'm goin' t' take over from 'ere!"  Grôltakh turned to the Uruk.

"Come on, now Urthrutz!"  He replied teasingly – patronisingly.  "We're almost at the bridge now."  Grôltakh was exasperated with the Uruk, and he knew his words would be wasted.  In fact, he welcomed the Uruk's next move.  There was a long, tense silence, then together they both drew their swords; the Uruk's meanacing broad and heavy sword, forged in Orthanc as one of many, and Grôltakh's unique time-tarnished, thin sword, meant more as a symbol of power for the defeated Elven high lord than as a weapon, but a weapon it still was.  The orcs of Orthanc gathered around and began to cheer Urthrutz on.  Grôltakh could feel Lèkfrêtz's watchful stare from above.  As one, the two fighters leapt forwards, steel clashing against steel.  As they did so, Grôltakh moved his left foot to kick Urthrutz between the legs but the Uruk moved before contact was made.  Urthrutz began to swing his sword about wildly like a berserker making wide swings.  Grôltakh ducked, countered and hit back ferociously, striking the Uruk across the chest and leaving a long gash.  Grôltakh had made the first successful hit, and as a result Urthrutz was furious.  They began to circle.

"'Ad enough already, have we snaga?"  Urthrutz asked him.  "It'll take more than this scratch t' kill me!"  Grôltakh rolled up the great coat's sleeves.

            "Oh, we're just gettin' started my dear boy – and you're jus' gettin' finished too!"  Grôltakh threw himself at the Uruk, and allowed Urthrutz to slash him across the face as his maneuver twisted himself around and stuck his sword horizontally through the Uruk's right side of his back.  It did no major damage.  Urthrutz howled and pulled forwards, dragging the sword out of his body.  His blood spilled onto the floor.  Urthrutz went into his berserker mode once more, and went closer and closer to Grôltakh, swinging his sword.  Grôltakh tried to parry the attacks but Urthrutz was too strong for him.  He managed to move enough to miss a few, and other blows that still struck him hit not so vital regions on his body.  Dark blood mixed with even darker blood.  It was during one of these blows that Grôltakh saw his chance.  He ducked one of Urthrutz's more mighty attacks that would have left him without a head and twisted his body and sword so that the sword tip sank straight into the Uruk's heart.  Urthrutz gasped and stumbled backwards.  The Uruk readied another blow for his enemy.  Grôltakh struck before the Uruk had time to counter, and slit his throat.  Urthrutz stood there silent, and the cheering stopped.  The Uruk dropped his sword. He was still alive, but at the same time he was dead – everybody could see it; everybody knew it.  But Grôltakh was not done yet.  He hacked Urthrutz's legs off at the back of the knee, causing what was left of him to fall to the ground on his back.  It was then that Urthrutz was dead, but Grôltakh continued to savagely defile the body.  He used his sword to stab out the Uruk's eyes, and make his skull unrecognizable.  He stamped on the Uruk's rib cage, causing the bones to break and squash the organs inside before he jabbed and stabbed at the corpse's stomach, revealing all of it's contents to the outside world.  And then Grôltakh was done; though his bloodlust was now as strong as it had ever been.  It was then that the presence he could feel above him disappeared.  The orcs stared at Grôltakh, gaping in surprise.  It was not his aggression to the corpse that caused their surprise – any orc could be that vicious – but the way in which Grôltakh moved could be described as… elven.  There was something not right about this orc; something not right at all.

Grôltakh turned to those watching him and shook his fist holding the still bloody sword.  "You Uruk's might have yer strength, and ye may have been born with the knowledge of how t' fight, but that doesn't mean you know how t' use it!"  Urthrutz had all of the power in that battle, but Grôltakh had all of the experience.  "Anyone else interested in challengin' me fer leadership?"  A few of the Uruk-Hai growled, but none moved to challenge.  It was then that another Uruk stepped forwards - Noshlak.  Grôltakh readied his sword again.

"I ain't goin' to fight a snaga," Noshlak told him.  "But I ain't gonna follow your path any longer."  Noshlak pointed to a doorway; not the one that they had just come through, nor the one that Grôltakh was going to lead them through, but the _other_ door in the room.  It was the door that Grôltakh did not know where or what it led to.  "I'm goin' that way, and if anyone wants to follow me, they can do so.  Like you said: we chose to follow you, and we have the choice not to."

"Fine!"  Grôltakh growled.  "You go that way, right into the heart of the Moria orcs' den," he lied, "and I'll take my followers to the bridge of Khazad-Dum."  Grôltakh could see that he had put doubt into Noshlak's eyes, and the eyes of those that were splitting and choosing to follow Noshlak, but the party still split.  Most of the Uruk-Hai followed Noshlak, but some continued to follow Grôltakh, grudgingly impressed that he had managed to defeat one of their own.  Both Grôltakh and Yutshrug were surprised to see that Grôltakh still had most of the group with him after all of the complaining they had done about his leadership.  Much of their precious time had been wasted on the battle, and Grôltakh knew that they must get out before nightfall or they would not leave Moria at all.

And so the two parties went their separate ways, never to meet again.  Grôltakh could not see the outside world, but his suspicions had been justified, for already, the sun was but less than an hour away from dusk.

~End of Chapter 12~

A/N:  Grôltakh finally gets the chance to show his vicious side. He was going to be called 'Elf-slayer' or 'Elves-end' but I couldn't find the orkish for 'slayer' or 'end' and I thought that you people would like something that translates into Tolkien's orkish, rather than me making up some of my own. So there it is: Grôltakh's also known as 'Elf-darkness' – 'the death of elves'.


	13. Dusk

Chapter 12 Reviews:

Hel – The fight was liked! ^.^ *does strange little dance*  Yep – It's Grôltakh's intelligence that has kept him alive so long, whereas with Yutshrug, it's more to do his strength, 'friends' and luck, whilst with Ragnäkah… heck – who knows how he has managed to stay alive so long with his irascible nature?!  Perhaps Grôltakh has been looking after him well.  I thought that the trick Lèkfrêtz would play on Grôltakh would be kind of obvious, but I decided it would be better than the two giving each other a friendly slap on the back and walking off into the darkness, reminiscing about old times. : )  There isn't really another reason for why Lèkfrêtz is trying to trick Grôltakh, other than to possibly test him and see if he has become more intelligent, or if he will react differently than he expects.  But really, Lèkfrêtz isn't as intelligent as Grôltakh and has a far more animalistic nature.  Sometimes I worry that I am making the orcs more intelligent than Tolkien would have wanted, thus creating 'out-of-character' main characters.

A/N: Onto chapter 13! (Unlucky for some)

~Chapter 13~

Grôltakh knew he was close to the exit now; he could feel the fresh air and a wind from outside. After they had crossed this last flight of stairs, the bridge would be in sight. A good thing too, for Grôltakh did not know how much longer Lèkfrêtz and his troops would leave them alone for. The bridge came into sight, and his heart sank. The bridge was broken. They could not cross it. And as if to pressurise him even more, in the distance, they heard the ululations of some of the Moria orcs. They were coming for them.

"What do we do? What do we do?" Yutshrug begged him, yanking at his ruined coat. "We're gonna die, aren't we?! I don't wanna die!" Grôltakh grabbed his collar and clouted him over the head.

"We're not dead yet! And I bet Yishvruk's orcs had to make some other entrances out onto the other side," Grôltakh explained. He let go of Yutshrug. Grôltakh became desperate; now was a time for every orc for himself. He ran down along more stairways, through arches and tunnels that had yet to be filled with Lèkfrêtz's company.  The others in the group followed close behind, looking over their shoulders every now and again to see how near behind them their enemies were. He came to a door and paused, recognising the symbol above it. He remembered it from long ago; a friend had shown it to him whilst he had been staying in Lugbûrz. "Through here!" He commanded, and he was followed.

He had led them into a room that would contain no more than fifty orcs, and that would be if they were packed in very tightly. There was a mural on the back wall, consisting of two white trees and some writing in Elvish to the left side of it, and Dwarvish on the right, inlaid with borders of flowers and trees and birds. On the side next to it, written crudely and without the frame the other two wall writings had, was lettering in Orkish. He did not know if it was a translation of what was on the wall, but the Orkish was a poem in Westron, and he noted it down in his head for some reason. But what was most noticeable about the room – indeed, it could not be missed – was an enormous black pool, and there was also a smaller one in the ceiling above them, at the far end of the chamber. The water did not seem to reflect the room though, rather hiding another place beneath its darkness. Grôltakh poked his head through the pool, not to find it was wet but instead it came out somewhere else, and that he was poking his head through the smaller hole in the ceiling whilst there was another big pool in the room below him. This is what he had expected to find; this is what his friend had told him about back at Lugbûrz.

"Follow me through!" He told the others, before he plunged himself through the black water, feet first.

He landed onto the ground below with a thud and moved out of the way. A group of orcs and Uruk-hai came next, all but Yutshrug moving out of the way. He gaped upwards at the dark pool above him, and at what had just happened. Therefore it should have come as no surprise when the next group of orcs and Uruks threw themselves through, that an Uruk managed to land on the snaga's shoulders.  The sound of a compressing spinal cord could be clearly heard.  Oh, how Yutshrug's face betrayed his pain! Grôltakh made the orcs that had come through go up the stairs on the other side of the chamber.  Grôltakh didn't realise it, but some of the orcs that had followed Noshlak had managed to find his group and were coming through the portals.  Noshlak himself was nowhere to be seen.

"What just happened?" One of the Uruk-hai asked him.

"We went through the 'Old Portals'," Grôltakh explained. "They were created and used by the elves and dwarves, but that was in a time long past, when the two species were still friends. The portals were used as quick trade links, and escape routes in case of danger. But they went out of use long before orcs ever came to the Misty Mountains." Grôltakh remembered his old friend at Lugbûrz warning him about something to do with the portals, but he could not remember what it was.  The others in the room went up the stairs, but Grôltakh lingered a little longer – long enough to see Lèkfrêtz walk over to the portal face, kneel down beside the water's edge and peer down at him, sneering.  He did not follow though – Grôltakh had left Moria, and Lèkfrêtz would not stray from his home territory.  _And_ of course, he _knew_ the penalty for using the Old Portals.  Grôltakh heard footsteps come down the stairs, and without turning to look he knew that Yutshrug was standing there.

"Grôltakh!  Grôltakh, we need you 'bove ground!"  Yutshrug called to him.  He had not noticed that Grôltakh was staring up at Lèkfrêtz.  Unwillingly, Grôltakh took his eyes off of Lèkfrêtz and walked away.

They emerged from a constructed hole in the ground to find themselves in the middle of a heavily wooded area, with no sign of human or orkish life. The sky was dark, apart from a small amount of orange sky far off in the west._  The bastard – it is not fully dark yet!  I should have expected his deal to be false!_  Grôltakh thought, remembering the deal he had made with Lèkfrêtz.

"…Where are we?" Yutshrug gasped.  Grôltakh closed his eyes and concentrated on a memory.  He saw a map in front of him, whilst his friend explained to him about the 'Old Portals'.  Only two locations on the map were in forests – one in Lothlorien and one in the Druadan Forest in Gondor.  And since no elves were around, shooting at them… Grôltakh re-opened his eyes.

"We are…thirty miles north-west of Minas Tirith, in the Druadan Forest."

~End of Chapter 13~

A/N: Don't worry – this is the very last mysterious 'friend' that Grôltakh has – no more will be popping out of the 'woodwork'.  I know that it's very coincidental that there just so happens to be a portal in Moria that takes them closer to their goal, but remember, it took Boromir eighty nine days to get from Minas Tirith to Rivendell, and being a son of the Steward of Gondor I doubt that he was walking, or that he stopped off at towns or villages very long either considering the urgency of his mission.  Looking at the back of 'The Lord of the Rings' in an appendix, it seems my orcs have at the most, thirteen days to get from Orthanc to Minas Tirith, and that's only for the very end of the battle.  About three to seven of those days were spent being lost in Moria (despite Grôltakh's arguments that they were never lost), plus the day it took to get to Moria from Orthanc's tunnels.

Tolkien used the 'Paths of the Dead' for Aragorn (acquiring an army as well) so I think that it's fair if I use a similar time-saving device. After all, our orcs wouldn't be able to make it to Gondor in time for the battles otherwise, now would they? At least I don't think so – I really do need to go and re-read LOTR again. *Looks at length of the book/s* …Mmmmaybe later.


	14. Death Knocks

Chapter 13 Reviews:

Hel – Aah!  So that's why Boromir took so long to get to Rivendell!  Why can't I remember these details – especially since I read this book only four or so months ago! X (  Well at least I'm  making all of these mistakes in the author's notes, and not in the actual storyline.  To be honest, I wasn't sure how much everyone would like the Old Portals idea.  I knew I had a very short amount of time to get them to Gondor in, and I had to find them a way when the bridge had collapsed, but I really didn't realise how short the time was until I went back and looked at the appendix.  Thirteen days – not long, eh?  The penalty for using the Old Portals will be explained later on, in the sequel (it's a long time to wait for an explanation, I know, but I can't work it into this storyline).  The reason the elves and dwarves stopped using the portals was because of this penalty.  And yes – we'll definitely be getting a visit from the Druadan.  Lékfrêtz could have used Grôltakh to get rid of Yishvruk, but I doubt Grôltakh would have accepted – he has his own priorities and anyway, I think Lékfrêtz is keeping that honour for himself!  And as for Ragnäkah and the nameless one, well, this is what this chapter is for!

A/N:  You know how I said before (back in chapter 6) that there were going to be two chapters that were barely over 400 words?  Well, it looks like I fixed that problem.

~Chapter 14~

Grôltakh's group set up in a small glade in the forest. Once it became clear that no more orcs were going to come through the Old Portals, Grôltakh asked his lieutenants to find out how many their group now consisted of. They had lost a few back in Moria, but their numbers had remained relatively the same since the split. He still regretted losing Ragnäkah in Moria, but he felt no pain in losing his old friend – after all, he had seen orcs (both friends, enemies and unknown ones) lost to the final silence. Yet his words of knowledge (and sometimes even wisdom) would have been welcome now as much as they had ever been. _Well, no point in dwelling on the past. Right now, I need to get these men to Minas Tirith, and myself into Mordor._  Sentries had been put on guard, even though there seemed to be nothing in this forest that could harm them.  But Grôltakh knew that what there was and what there seemed were usually two entirely different worlds.  Something was in this forest that made Grôltakh and some of the other orcs uneasy, but Grôltakh was exhausted and his primal needs took over his mental fears. He laid his body down into the soft, springy grass, placing his head against a cold stone and dozed.

                                                                                                                          *

Ragnäkah and the nameless one stood in the middle of the armoury.  The door came under heavy battering by the creatures outside, slowly disintegrating and being torn down by long clawed paws. As the barrier between the orcs and the… things became less and less, the chirruping noise seemed to grow in intensity.

"I can't see what's tearin' the door down!" Ragnäkah cried, raising his sword in front of him, his hand wavering about wildly whilst he tried to restrain his fear.

"That's because it's invisible!" The younger orc answered. "I don't think those things are of the same species!"  Ragnäkah had never, _never_ encountered something with the capability of invisibility before.  This was going to be a truly unique – and deadly experience. Ragnäkah and the nameless one backed up against the furthest corner of the room, grasping their swords as tightly as they could. Before they could do anything else, the door shattered into a million splinters, and the creatures stole into the room at lightning pace. It was the nameless one that made the first kill, going for the smaller creatures that had attacked them earlier. The black blade met with their necks, and blood marred the blade and the floor. The small ones dropped dead. Ragnäkah took on the invisible larger adversaries. He slashed his blade out in front of him, inexpertly and ineptly hacking away at air and missing the enemies altogether.

"I need help 'ere, little one!" Ragnäkah exclaimed, only just managing to catch one of the invisible creatures and making it bleed grey blood. Together, the inexperienced swordsmen managed to advance on the creatures, pushing them all the way to the door and getting themselves out of the room corner. The cries of the beasts ended, and the room fell silent once more. Both orcs were gasping for breath.  Both could hear and feel their dark hearts pounding away in their chests.

"That was bloody brilliant!" The nameless orc cried. Ragnäkah muttered some choice curses under his breath and attempted to casually swing the sword in his hands; oh, how he wanted his whip back so badly! He would have enjoyed battle if he could know if the odds weren't impossibly stacked against him, that he had a few more comrades – trained ones – with him, and a weapon that he _knew_ how to use!  His previous sword had been mainly for show, but it had also been lighter and shaped differently than the one in his hand right now, so even though he had used a sword in the past, it did not help him wield this one any better. 

The nameless one began to walk out of the room, but Ragnäkah's gut instinct told him something was wrong.  He pulled the nameless one back into the armoury and jabbed at the air in front of him. The sword slid through the air with difficulty, and it shrieked in a high pitched voice. More grey blood fell into the dust, and both orcs swiftly backed into the room; more of both types of creature were coming.

"I don't think we're going t' get out of here!" Ragnäkah whined in a moment of Yutshrug-like-pessimism. This time the creatures came at them in larger numbers, and no matter how well the two orcs disposed of their enemies, more constantly materialized to supplement them. They soon found themselves backing into the corner of the room once more.  Ragnäkah tripped backwards on some weaponry on the floor. He had tripped over some spears, but his eyes caught sight of what he had desired all of this time – a whip! With no notion of how close the enemy was to killing him, he reached out and grabbed the weapon from by his foot, looking at it and grinning widely. The nameless one – though standing and doing better at fighting with a sword than Ragnäkah – found himself overwhelmed by the odds, and he stumbled backwards, tripped over Ragnäkah's foot and fell between the older orc's legs.

The creatures advanced onto them slowly, as if time itself had turned to treacle and death was mocking them, wanting them to endure their last moments of life in pain and anguish like countless thousands of souls whom had experienced the misfortune of encountering their kind. As the little things pounced for their necks, the young orc tried to scuttle even further back into the corner of the room, pressing his weight against Ragnäkah's body._ I wish that I was with Grôltakh – or even Yutshrug right now!_ Terrified, Ragnäkah raised his arm to shield his eyes from the monsters, leaning back against the wall also. Then suddenly, the wall seemed to disintegrate, and both orcs fell backwards into darkness.

~End of Chapter 14~


	15. In The Darkness Find Them

Chapter 14 Reviews:

Hel – Portal or Hidden door?  Neither!  Trust me – _all will be revealed in time!  I haven't forgotten about all of those niggling little details (i.e. how Grôltakh got his nickname, the penalty of the Old Portals, and now how Ragnäkah and the nameless one escaped), but I'm afraid I might take a long time before an explanation comes along.  You're right – those two do have more luck than they deserve, but it's always the way in life – those that have the most luck are usually the ones who least deserve it.  It would be interesting to see their reactions when they realise that they are alone in Moria with all of those Moria orcs… but sadly, that's not the way the story goes. ~.~  Well, read on to find out more._

~Chapter 15~

Ragnäkah felt himself falling through darkness, himself becoming more and more a part of it.  He could sense the nameless one's fear, and his hands were writhing about madly, in search for something to stop the fall.  _Is this… the void?_  Ragnäkah thought, emotion torn from him, only emptiness.  Back in the armoury, he thought he knew what it was like for time to slow down when the creatures began to advance on the two of them, but this was the real thing.  Time _had slowed.  Nothing could compare.  He clutched the old dusty whip in his hand.  His arms and legs were limply hanging above him, the amulet around his neck being pulled away from his body by the 'force' of the fall.  The stone inset into the amulet was glowing, but its light did not pierce the darkness.  A thousand shards of thoughts entered his mind – where were they?  How did they get here?  How were they to get out again?  But one word was clear amongst the muddle in his head: _Grôltakh_… and with this one unclouded thought, the darkness swirled into shapes, and time seemed to resume…_

                                                                                                                          *

"But what if we get t' Minas Tirith and find that there's no one there – no allies, I mean?" Yutshrug asked Grôltakh.

"We will dwell on that in the mornin' – right now I want t' get some sleep, and it'll probably be the most that we're likely to get for a long while, so I wouldn't spend so much time talkin' an' more time sleepin'," Grôltakh growled in rely, turning and walking away from his friend.  Yutshrug had woken Grôltakh up specifically to ask that one question!  Why couldn't it have waited until the morning?  And yet he had to admit it was an amazingly intelligent question – coming from Yutshrug.  What if they were too early?  Then they would all be slaughtered by the archers on the walls.  And if they were too late?  Then it could go two ways.  The outcome depended upon the victor.  One of the branches in the trees moved abruptly – something that Grôltakh had come to recognise as the movement of a person.  He drew his sword, whilst Yutshrug stood there tentatively, not daring to move a muscle.  He watched the branches for more movement, but there was none.  Slowly, he put the sword away and let out a long and ragged breath.  It was probably another orc.  These ghosting movements were perhaps more imagination than threat; he had been on edge since entering Moria, and now that he had a chance to relax, he was not using it to his advantage.

Yutshrug sensed most of Grôltakh's tension leave his body, and so he picked up his argument once more.

"But what if-" Yutshrug's sentence was cut short as two orcs fell out of the sky right above his head and landed right on top of him. Grôltakh turned around, anger seeping into his voice.

"Didn't I just tell you to-" He gaped at the pile of orcs on the ground consisting of Yutshrug, the nameless orc, and Ragnäkah. "What the fuck? How did you get here! We left you back in Moria!"

"Nice t' see you too!" Ragnäkah mumbled weakly as a retort. He looked around him, considered Grôltakh's words, and when he could not come to an easy conclusion, he shrugged.

"It's all right – I'm okay!" Yutshrug's muffled voice said from under the two orcs.

"That was great timin'…" the nameless orc muttered, shaking his head.  He looked up above him and stared, as if searching for a hole or a faint remnant of anything that they could have possibly fallen out _from_.  There was nothing.  As far as he could see, they had both fallen out of plain air.  But whatever had happened, the nameless one was sure that none of it was because of him. "Hey Ragnäkah, don't think that you could magic us up a nice dinner too, eh?" Ragnäkah pounded his fist on top of the younger orc's head; he'd had enough of him in the mines. Grôltakh put on his best scowl and said: "If you two are finished fightin', I order you t' get t' sleep. And I wouldn't think 'bout disobeying my orders if I were you – there are no crevices around here t' hide down, to escape my wrath!" Ragnäkah grinned widely at Grôltakh, acknowledging his 'signs of affection', before tilting his head back and collapsing asleep where he lay – on top of Yutshrug. The nameless one chuckled at the orc next to him, and he tried to disconnect himself from every single one of Yutshrug's piercings. Grôltakh sneered at the two of them before turning away and smiling to himself secretly; his friend and advisor was back.

~End of Chapter 15~

A/N: Before anyone asks, Ragnäkah is thinking about Grôltakh because he thinks his friend would know what to do in this situation, not because he was in love with Grôltakh or anything like that, just in case anyone thought that was the way Ragnäkah's mind was leaning.


	16. Through The Forest

Chapter 15 Reviews:

Hel – I'm telling you now, they'll never be _this_ lucky ever again!  I haven't actually thought much about this part of the story, but rest assured that I am going through it again and making it as interesting as possible before I post it.  And _any_ time is a bad time for Yutshrug to start thinking!

A/N: After all of that action in Moria, I have now fallen into a 'storyline depression', where I really can't think of many more exciting things, and action all of the time would get boring in the end. Let's see if the storyline suffers because of it, shall we?

~Chapter 16~

Nrismusk opened his eyes. He no longer felt tired; he felt scared. His ears had long since grown acute to the steady rustling sound nearby in the bushes, and the steady plodding sound that was concurrent with it. It wouldn't be an orc; no orc would even attempt to be so quiet. He awoke Krashlug next to him, who wasn't very pleased.

"What you be wantin'?" Krashlug thrashed out at him, more than half asleep.

"There's something out there, in the bushes," Nrismusk whispered urgently.

"Prob'ly jus' some orc, takin' a leak," his friend replied sleepily, his voice tainted with annoyance.

"No, no… there's something out there in the woods, hunting us. I'm sure o' it!" Krashlug harrumphed, turned over, and tried to go back to sleep. The bush nearby rattled again, and this time Nrismusk did not bother to whisper. "There's something out there," he whined, "And it's going to hurt us – it's going to kill us!" Nrismusk picked up his sword and charged into the bush, screaming wildly. Krashlug sat up and watched the bushes, his rage growing at his timorous friend. The screaming suddenly cut short, and the forest was filled with an eerie quiet. Krashlug contemplated why his friend had fallen suddenly silent, came to the conclusion that an Uruk-hai had shut him up, and happy with this conclusion, he went back to sleep.

                                                                                                                    *

Morning came, and the mutilated body of an orc had been found. Grôltakh immediately suspected the Uruk-hai, and gave them some stern 'advice'. He was so pissed off with them that when one of them questioned his orders, he instantly hacked his head off.  Grôltakh had not lived for over three centuries because he'd let subordinates walk all over him. Uruk-hai were not meant to be afraid of anything, but whatever Grôltakh saw in their eyes after the beheading, it sure came close to it.

The rest of the day was spent following a very rough path out of the forest. The path was so old that grass and flowers were growing on it, and the only way that you could tell that it did not belong to the rest of the forest was that brambles did not completely cover the ground. Moods soon turned sour again when food became low, coupled with the fact that there was a long trek ahead and Grôltakh's quick-thinking and good leadership (and luck) back in the mines of Moria had been forgotten. The forest exuded an eerie presence that ate at the most solid confidences and fearless hearts amongst the small army.

And so, they marched in silence, their rhythmic footfalls the only sound they made – and even then it was unwillingly. The march reminded Yutshrug of the glorious Uruk-hai that had marched from Isengard to Helm's Deep less than a month ago; the only differences were that they did not appear nearly as splendid, nor did all of them have weapons. The weapons they had had been counted for: Three whips (including Ragnäkah's old one – now belonging to some orc that Ragnäkah had not found – and his new one), five lances, three large metallic Uruk-Hai bows, thirty-six crossbows, nineteen normal bows, twenty one daggers, eleven swords (including Grôltakh's, and the nameless orc's) and six scimitars. One hundred and four weapons in all, amongst more than two hundred soldiers, but considering the circumstances in which they had been gathered, Grôltakh was quite pleased with how many weapons had been accumulated.

There was a rustle in a nearby bush, and Grôltakh just had enough time to turn his head and watch as a lone orc was grabbed and pulled through the thorns and brambles.  There was a wailing scream, which cut short shortly after the orc was out of sight.  Everyone reacted instantly, drawing swords – just in time for the full onslaught of the Druadan.  They emerged from the overgrown woodland and dropped from the trees, surrounding them.  Those that did not have weapons were targeted first, being killed on the spot or dragged deeper into the woodland.

            "Druadan!"  Ragnäkah screeched. "It's the Druadan!"

            "But I thought they were only a legend!"  Yutshrug replied, using his dagger to stab at anything that came close to him.  The fury lasted only minutes, before the attacking Druadan were either dead or had retreated.  Grôltakh looked back at the carnage the Druadan had done, his sword still firmly grasped in his hand.  There were too many dead; at this rate, none would make it to Gondor.  He couldn't understand it – they had started off so well!

            "We move until nightfall!" He commanded, knowing that the Druadan would be less happy attacking orcs at night time, when their eyesight was better.

He pressed them hard, moving through the forest as quickly as possible.  When they did stop, Grôltakh made sure that a decent number of Uruk-Hai were on each watch.  For the first time, he was actually glad that those pompous, vain, masses of muscle were with him – they had done well fighting off the Druadan – much better than the snaga had done.  Even when they were resting at night, they were still attacked – not only from behind, front and sideways – but from above.  The Druadan had pulled three snaga and even an Uruk-Hai up through the trees, and returned their bodies to the ground only moments later.  Grôltakh did not sleep well that night, nor any other night in those woods.  Not only was he afraid that the Druadan might kill him, but he did not trust his followers either.  It would not take more than a dagger from the nearest orc to put an end to him, and he had noticed three orcs take a special notice in him – and their weapons – as of late.  He knew that his tiredness would have a direct effect on his decisions, but he valued his life more than his sleep.  He could nap or catch up on sleep later on.

The days passed by, each one the same as the one before, and the following, until at last they passed from the woodland and into a grassland.  And to their south, further east, they saw Minas Tirith, with the forces of Mordor already massing at the city's walls.

~End of Chapter 16~


	17. Grôltakh's Agenda

Chapter 16 Reviews:

Hel – You would think that they had a different opinion about legends after the Ents, however they never really saw the Ents, so they never knew who really attacked them, and also, some people never learn (which I'm sure will be demonstrated by Yutshrug and the nameless one over and over again in the future).  And perhaps the Mordor armies will have weapons to give them when they finally reach Minas Tirith.  When making the ages for my orcs, I wasn't sure how old 'old' should be for an orc; Tolkien never really specified if orcs had short lives compared to humans, or short lives compared to elves.  Considering how violent orcs are to one another and how much battle they take part in, I thought that Tolkien meant short lives compared to humans.  Grôltakh is three hundred and seventy six years old in this story. Just out of interest, how old did you (and anyone else who reads this and responds) think he was?

~Chapter 17~

Grôltakh motioned his soldiers onwards to join with the siege, but he himself lingered. Ragnäkah joined his side.

"What's wrong?" He asked. Grôltakh stared at the scene that was playing out before his eyes and shook his head.

"We're going to Mordor." Ragnäkah looked towards Minas Tirith, and then back towards his leader, nodding his head. For once, his wisdom was as developed as his knowledge. The two orcs turned away and began to continue eastwards. Yutshrug scratched his head at the two, and the nameless orc stood beside him, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Hey! I thought said-" Yutshrug stuttered. "Didn't you say we were goin' t' Gondor? You never said anythin' about Mordor!"  Yutshrug whined, thinking about the extra miles he had to walk, and the good food and pillage he would be leaving behind if the siege was successful. Grôltakh turned to look at Yutshrug, fed up that he had to explain his actions yet again.

"You see all o' those soldiers down there? There should be more! Where are all o' the Uruk-hai we sent away to Helm's Deep? There are not nearly enough down there t' account fer all those that we sent away, even if there were many casualties. Somethin' 'as happened at Helm's Deep, maybe something like what happened back at Orthanc." Grôltakh muttered curses under his breath; Orthanc was meant to be nearly impenetrable – there should have at least been some sort of warning! Yet there was none, and Orthanc had been taken within an instant. And they had needed to flee. "All of the Uruk-hai couldn't still be at Helm's Deep – they wouldn't all be needed!  They would be needed here!  They would yearn for more battle! Why stay in a land that has been conquered? No, they must mostly be dead, if not all; and it would take some power t' destroy that many. The humans 'ave some sort o' trick up their sleeves – I know it! And I don't want t' be 'ere when they use it. After all, what can we do? We're only orcs!" As Grôltakh said these last words, Ragnäkah fingered the amulet around his neck, thinking about how 'only orcs' had managed to escape Moria and find themselves miles and miles away. Yutshrug shrugged, and followed his two friends, the little orc close on his heels.

"And what do you think you are doin'?" Ragnäkah sneered at the young orc.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" The nameless one retorted.

"Following us t' Mordor," Yutshrug replied, not realising that it was a rhetorical question. Of course, he didn't know what a rhetorical question was either.

"Oh, let him come if he so wants Ragnäkah; he has more sense than those down there," Grôltakh said, pointing to the battle that was taking place around Minas Tirith.  At the moment, the forces of darkness seemed to be winning, but Grôltakh and Ragnäkah would bet that it would not last long if indeed there was something that the humans had in their favour that they did not know about.  The four of them continued onwards under a darkened sky, knowing that if there were troops belonging to Gondor outside the city walls, they would not stand a very high chance of living long.

The battle raged on in the background, and the nameless one could not help but stare in awe at the scale of the attack, of the mechanical weapons being used, and the smell of fear, aggression, hatred and hope all emanating from the masses not so very far away.  The air thundered with cries of war and of pain; of thundering feet and creaking stone.  Perfect chaos.  It was his first sight of a real battle, and although he didn't realise it, watching the siege made him feel pride in being an orc.  Although it stirred his bloodlust once more, and cried out to him to become part of it, he knew that he was with some intelligent orcs, and if he wanted to live over two weeks, he should stay with them.  With great difficulty, he pulled himself away from its horrid beauty, and comforted himself in the knowledge that it would not be long before he took part in something like that.

Ragnäkah could not help but wonder what his friend's agenda was.  Rarely did Grôltakh keep secrets from him, and even now he could tell that something was keeping his mind occupied.  Grôltakh never went to a place without a specific need to be there.  Well, time would tell.  These were strange times right now, and Ragnäkah could tell that the end of it all was drawing near; whether the outcome was going to be in their favour had yet to be decided.

Obviously, Grôltakh had never intended to take part in the battle in the first place; his place was in Lugbûrz, and it had been all along. As he had planned, all along.

~End of Chapter 17~


	18. Past & Future

Chapter 17 Reviews:

Hel – Yep!  They're on their way to Mordor now!  Schattentanz was right to suspect that going to Mordor was a better bet – Minas Tirith was more of a stop-off point for Grôltakh, and he has dropped off the troops there.  And why is Grôltakh so eager to get to Mordor?  I'm afraid you'll just have to wait and see!

A/N: This chapter is full of useless crap, but I need to fill in the gap between getting to Mordor and… forgotten my sentence. Anyway, this bit is needed for the story to make sense, but it isn't really that interesting.

So _tough!_

XP

~Chapter 18~

They had managed to cross the river and were travelling through Osgiliath. It was day, but the sky ahead was as abysmal and as black as the never-ending night. In other words, it elevated their souls beyond anything they had felt for a very long time. They covered the land with such speed that they had thought was unfeasible, and they were only marching along steadily. The only interruption to this was the occasional moan from Yutshrug about his stomach needing more food, his mouth wanting more water, or his bowels, well… wanting emptying. For some reason, Grôltakh and Ragnäkah endured him with stoic-like ability, the latter needing to meditate now and again to keep his temper under control (and managing barely).  It was an ability that they had built up over decades that they had spent, enduring Yutshrug's pessimism, continuous whining and stupidity.  However, the newest orc in their group did not possess this talent. The nameless one would hit Yutshrug whenever he'd had enough of him, which usually ended with Yutshrug attempting to devour the little bastard; the nameless one needed to learn his place. Above, somewhere in the blackness, they could feel the winged Nazgûl scanning over the ground, looking for the one item that was the soul purpose of their existence: the One Ring.

Walking through the desolate city triggered something within Grôltakh – a feeling that had died down as of late. Seeing all of the carnage and destruction, he began to yearn for his earlier days, when he had pillaged, raped and burned entire towns. Grôltakh remembered how he had been in command of a small group in the Battle of the Five Armies, and how he had slain many a dwarf, human and fair elf despite the disastrous outcome. He wanted the elves to fear him again as they once had. He looked at his clothes, and remembered how the Elvish high lord had feared him. _Will such days ever come to me again?_ He thought not, unless Sauron won his final battle against men, but his hunger still stayed.

Though he could not say for definite, Ragnäkah felt sure that the battle at Minas Tirith must be over by now.  None of them could be sure of the outcome, but they would find out be the time they got to Mordor, if not sooner.  Ragnäkah hoped for all their sakes that Grôltakh's theory back at Minas Tirith was wrong.  Otherwise… he did not want to think about the outcome.

The nameless one had never been to Mordor before.  In fact, he hadn't really been _anywhere before; he was barely a fortnight old.  Mordor was going to be an experience for him, for better or for worse.  He could not wait to see Lugbûrz, and he bet that these orcs that he was with would make sure that his time there was as interesting as possible – whether they wanted to or not.  He could not help but snigger at the thought of the 'interesting' time Ragnäkah had provided him with down in Moria's mines.  That particular orc was going to provide him with entertainment for a long while to come._

A cataclysm wracked the ground and some of the more deteriorated buildings toppled, causing the orcs to scatter. Most of the rubble fell amongst them, but one piece fell onto Ragnäkah's head, knocking him to the floor. He did not get back up. Grôltakh rushed over, tailed closely by the nameless orc (whose intentions were not of concern, but of looting Ragnäkah's belongings), whilst Yutshrug gaped as he stared up at the buildings dazedly.

"Is he unconscious?" The nameless one asked.

"Yes."

"Good!" The nameless one immediately began to reach for Ragnäkah's amulet, but Grôltakh grabbed his wrist and twisted it, causing the young orc severe pain.

"Don't touch – if I have been correctly informed, it was because you pilfered his whip in Moria that you were separated from the group and why he tried to kill you," Grôltakh grinned. His attention turned to the amulet, and then he noticed the new whip that Ragnäkah was using for a belt. "Where did he get those?"

"In Moria – where I got my armour and sword!" He stared at the amulet and whip keenly. Grôltakh's grip tightened. "No touchie!" The nameless one whined as a promise, yanking his hand towards his chest the moment Grôltakh let it go.

"Yutshrug, you're the strongest (though not the smartest) so come and help me carry him." Yutshrug shook himself out of his building gazing and did as he was commanded. "I'm watching you," Grôltakh grimaced malevolently at the nameless one. Thunder bellowed in the sky above, with the wrath of the Dark Lord himself. Grôltakh had this funny feeling that if he didn't get to Lugbûrz soon, there may not be one to go to. He shuddered at the thought, and wondered what had made him think so.  Perhaps all of this non-stop marching and arguing was having an effect on his mind.  Yes – that was it.  They marched through most of the day, until finally, Minas Morgul's peak came into sight.

End of Chapter 18~


	19. The Trade

Chapter 18 Reviews:

Hel – Just a quick warning: this review may contain spoilers – nothing major, but if you don't want any hints at what is to come, then it would be a good idea to skip this and go straight on to the chapter.  Well, now you have all had ample warning, it's time for my response.  Grôltakh probably could be suffering from a mid-life crisis.  Even before the Battle of the Five Armies, Grôltakh's life began to have less and less adventurous occurrences.  In his opinion, his life has become dull.  As for the 'foresight', I think it's more due to stress and lack of sleep.  I'm sure even optimists (if Grôltakh could be described as one) can get depressed enough to think pessimistically.  (Here's where the spoiler warning is enforced) The nameless one will be getting a name and I've chosen it already, but you'll just have to wait until then to find out what it is.  And yes, he does deserve a thorough beating!  I'm sure someone will administer it to him sooner or later.  Also, his definition of 'interesting' is… interesting.  He's a little deranged (to say the very least).

~Chapter 19~

The four orcs stood to one side of Minas Morgul (well, Yutshrug, Grôltakh and the nameless one stood – Ragnäkah was carried) and waited for all of the armies to filter out, giving them a space to slip though and inside Mordor. They waited for what seemed to Yutshrug to be ages (but was actually three minutes) before the aforementioned gap became available and they slithered into Mordor, passing the tower of Cirith Ungol within a few hours. Yutshrug and the nameless one had never been to Mordor before, and so they were in awe of Mount Doom and Lubgûrz, even when they were so far in the distance.  Grôltakh hoped that they would not act like this in front of the Mordor orcs, otherwise they would turn themselves into targets for thieves and bullies; Mordor's inhabitants were not keen on outsiders – even those of their own race.

Their days in the desolated land passed much like the ones before; walking, trying to find water when they could, and starving unless they could bribe a passing orc or Uruk to give them some food (which usually did not appear very appetising to start with). Ragnäkah remained unconscious, and the nameless one continued to try to rob him, but Grôltakh watched over his friend and made sure that nothing serious happened to him whilst he was in this coma-like state. Twice now, Yutshrug had seen a slimy, skulking greenish-grey creature stalking around in the distance.  Whatever it was, it was definitely not an orc. When he mentioned it to Grôltakh, a puzzled expression crossed his face.  He told Yutshrug that he was having nightmares and forgetting that things in your sleep cannot harm you in the waking world, and not to bother him again with such nonsensical tales.  And then by chance, Grôltakh caught a glimpse of Yutshrug's 'nightmare' silhouetted against the fires of Mount Doom.  He said nothing, and returned to the group looking paler than usual.  They took it in turns to be night watchman, and no more was said upon the subject.  Since being hit on the head by falling stonework, Ragnäkah had moved in and out of unconscious fits every now and again, and every time he seemed as though he was going to break back into the waking world, he would fall silent once more.

When only twelve miles from Lugbûrz, Grôltakh decided they needed to take a break.  Yutshrug immediately lay Ragnäkah down on the ground and fell asleep nearby, whilst Grôltakh had something to eat and the nameless one scrambled about over the wasteland, looking this way and that for a vantage point to watch the armies of Mordor.  It was the most rest that Grôltakh had allowed them in what felt like a long time, and although Yutshrug was not using his free time constructively, he was using it wisely. Orcs continually passed by, but none paid them much attention apart from the occasional Uruk-hai who demanded to know why they were not heading towards the Black Gates.  After a curt speech from Grôltakh, or a lie from the nameless one, they would usually go on their way, grumbling something under their breath.  There had been the odd occasion when words had not worked, and steel had been drawn, but Grôltakh dealt with those situations with swiftness and skill.  It was during this rest period that Grôltakh felt the need to empty his bladder, and leaving Yutshrug asleep and alone with an unconscious Ragnäkah and the nameless one, he went off to find a suitable place to do so. The nameless one saw his chance. He strode over to the unconscious orc, and ripped the amulet from around his throat and took the whip from around his waist. He stood there for a moment, wondering if he could take more than that from the comatose form of Ragnäkah, but in the end he decided that his clothes wouldn't fetch anything.  For an instant, Ragnäkah stirred, but quickly settled back down into sleep. Without looking back, he walked over to the roadside and attracted the attention of the nearest passing orc.  Yutshrug was sleeping through it all. A negotiation took place before the two came to an agreement, and whilst the other orc began taking something out of his bag, the nameless orc held out the whip and amulet.  Someone moved behind him, and the nameless one turned to see who it was.

"Oh no you don't, you little bastard!" Ragnäkah's voice screeched with rage and indignity. The nameless one turned around only in time to see the form of the larger orc throw himself at him, his trousers falling to his knees as he flew through the air.  The next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, tangled with the other orc's body in a heavy fight.  The rest that he had gotten whilst he was unconscious seemed to have done him some good; despite the lack of a meal.

When Grôltakh returned, he discovered that Ragnäkah was wide awake.  Not only that, but he was throttling the nameless one's neck and attempting to wrestle his own belongings from him, whilst the nameless one fought to preserve his life. The other orc that was going to do part of the trade watched this scene, and when he realised that the trade was not going to take place after all, he shook his head at them, picked up the food he was going to trade and went away.

Yutshrug slept through it all.

~End of Chapter 19~

A/N: Gollum is looking for his preciousssss…


	20. Into Lugbûrz

Chapter 19 Reviews:

Hel – Heh heh – the nameless one never learns! : )  I'm sure Ragnäkah will throttle him… and throttle him… and throttle him… and the nameless one probably will think it's funny.

~Chapter 20~ (Wahey!)

"Lugbûrz," Ragnäkah breathed, staring up at the immense towers and their awe inspiring and horror provoking design.  Huge towers seemed to spiral ever-upwards, with only one tower higher than the rest.  The shapes that created the structure were sharp, arcane and blacker than a starless midnight sky.  It was difficult to decipher what was a walkway, or a balcony, or an outer staircase which led to somewhere else.  Sulphurous fumes could be smelt all around them, mixing in with the aroma of rotting corpses and waste.  Howling winds and gushing screams met his ears, sending a powerfully corporeal shiver down his spine.  An eerie atmosphere clung to the building like vines to trees and rocks.  And there was not one place you could hide where you could escape the inexorable, smothering feeling of eyes.  Eyes that made sure you kept your duty to the Dark Lord.  Eyes that saw all and kept you safe from approaching threats. Even though Ragnäkah's few stays here had been short, it had always felt as if he was home.  Here, he was safe from the attacks of humans, elves and dwarves.  Here, a fortress stood that would never be taken.

"Well, we can't dwell out here forever! I want food!" Yutshrug said cheerily, with the hint of a demand.

"When don't you want food?" Grôltakh muttered. The four orcs strode up to one of the gaping entrances, but the two guards lazily tilted their lances across the doorway, effectively barring their entry.  It was strange how there were so few guards on the doors – in previous visits, there had been at least four – but he supposed most orcs were out battling the humans and only a 'skeleton crew' remained to guard the Dark Tower. The sentinel's armour was nearly as black as the tower itself, and both looked identical. There were two large shoulder guards on each arm, one on top of the other, and the top one pointing upwards more. Slatted armour covered their chests in a fashion similar to what the smithies under Orthanc had made for the Uruk-hai, and they wore shin guards similar to the nameless one's. A sword rested on one of their hips, facing the outer side of their bodies that was not close to the door.

"What is your business here?" The one orc demanded in the Black Speech. "Don't you know that all orcs are to report to the Black Gates? Be off with you!" Yutshrug and the nameless orc looked at each other and shrugged; they couldn't understand a word that was said.  Ragnäkah understood most of the conversation, and began to turn to go. Grôltakh stopped him and glided up to speak to the guards.

"I am _'Elf-darkness',_" Grôltakh proclaimed in Black speech in his most omnipotent voice. "And I _demand t' be let in. My business is my own an' does not concern you." The guards seemed to recognise the name, but it did not change their stance on the situation.  In fact, their grips on the lances tightened.  They switched to the Westron language._

"Everything that we let pass into this tower is of our concern," the other guard retorted.  "We ain't allowed to let a bunch a' nobodies inside.  Special business only." Grôltakh came closer to one of the guards, taking full advantage of his tall height and using it to intimidate the guard. He grinned maliciously at him.

"Bruzmûk will be displeased if you hinder me any longer." At the mention of that one orc's name, the guards seem to relent a little more and an audible gasp could be heard from Ragnäkah.  If the name surprised them, it did not last long.

"Ha!  Bruzmûk - now we know he's lying!  What business would he have with someone of Bruzmûk's nature?"

"Bruzmûk doesn't have time for orcs like them," the other guard told his friend, nodding his head at the group of four in front of them.  "In case you didn't hear the first time, we'll tell you again: piss off – you are not going to be getting in here!" The lances stayed where they were placed, barring the doorway, and the malevolence remained in Grôltakh's smile.

            "What do you think Bruzmûk will do to you if you hinder his old friend more than necessary?"

            "What do you think he will do to you if you waste much more of our time with this nonsense?"  The guard on the left retorted.  The nameless one was becoming incredibly bored.  Not only was he incredibly bored, but hearing about this mystery Bruzmûk whetted his curiosity – something that Ragnäkah could sense in him like a bad omen.  And it was a bad omen.  Three seconds later, the deranged orc broke into an ear piercing howl and ran at the entrance.  Both guards were so preoccupied with Grôltakh that they were unprepared and did not have enough seconds to swing their lances around in time to skewer him.  And so, the nameless one barged through the doors, grabbing at the lances, pulling them from the orc guards' hands and taking them with him.  Everyone was stunned.  Then, with the sound of two loud 'thunks' as the lances hit the floor, a frenzy ensued.

            "Oi!  Get back here!  Guards!  We need more guards!"  The one sentry shouted whilst running after the nameless one.  The other guard stood firm, and began to draw his sword.  Grôltakh saw his chance.  He ran after the nameless one, with Ragnäkah in close pursuit.

            "Where do you two think you're going?!"  The second guard ran after them.

Apart from Yutshrug, all of the small group were inside Lugbûrz and were currently attempting to evade the two sentries and any more that might appear.  The noise they were making was an absolute clamour; it could probably be heard by all of Mordor! He lingered a little while longer on the entrance, staring at the armies gathering in front of Lugbûrz, and the Uruk-hai, who were 'persuading' the snaga to move with their whips. Yutshrug turned and went inside.

~End of Chapter 20~

A/N: I can't believe 'slatted' is an actual word. *Shrugs*


	21. Bruzmûk's Chamber

Chapter 20 Reviews:

Hel – Yep – the nameless one is finally making himself useful!  Bruzmûk is another old acquaintance of Grôltakh's – but hopefully more helpful than Lékfrêtz was.  With 'friends' like Yutshrug, the nameless one, and even Ragnäkah, Grôltakh sure doesn't need any enemies!

~Chapter 21~

After spending an hour evading the guards until they gave up, the group were finally free to seek out Bruzmûk.  Yutshrug and the nameless one had erupted into a bicker over some trivial matter – something along the lines of who could annoy Bruzmûk first – which the other two orcs did not want to get involved in – petty arguments seemed to be the speciality of those two, and it was better to let them get it out of their system than to get it in theirs (although Ragnäkah did seem to be getting it into his). Grôltakh seemed to know the part of the tower they were in like the back of his hand.  He had obviously been here before, but how many times, Ragnäkah did not know – he certainly hadn't been here with Ragnäkah in recent years. The others lagged behind Grôltakh as he led them up and down a countless number of never-ending spiral staircases and along dark, sparsely torch-lit hallways with vaulted ceilings to a final corridor filled with doors only along the right wall.  There was no one else around; it was just the four of them. Ragnäkah grabbed Grôltakh's shoulder and they halted in the middle of the corridor.

"Ah… this wouldn't be _the_ Bruzmûk, would it? Y'know – the one y' were tellin' me about in all of those crazy old stories o' yours?"

"The very same," Grôltakh said, and they continued down the hallway. The group halted outside a door left wide open.  In any other case, an open door would fell like an opportunity – an invitation – to go inside, but here, something about it did not feel very welcoming. The interior was in complete blackness apart from a solitary candle perched on a side table that barely penetrated the shadow. Grôltakh knocked on the door, but when no answer came, he swaggered in and settled on a chair in front of a large table that doubled as a desk. It was littered with papers from all kinds of languages, as well as a few books on the subjects of _Magick_, _Elven__ Beliefs_, and _The History Of The Valar And Ilúvatar_. He could not read the other titles.  Grôltakh randomly selected a title from one of the books he did understand and began to flick through it. The nameless one and Yutshrug quickly followed him in, but Ragnäkah paused at the door and peered inside, apprehension clearly visible on his face. After a moment at the door, he crept in and stood near the doorway, observing the room with something close to wonder.  The furniture in the room was mismatched, ranging from simplistic designs made from whitish pine to elaborate carvings made out of dark oak, of ravens, wolves and skeletal trees.  There was a bed in the far right corner of the room – something that was an unobtainable luxury to Ragnäkah; the closest he had ever gotten to sleeping comfortably happened a few years ago, when a pallet had been given him.  The room was not exactly huge, but it was more than adequate for one person and his belongings, giving enough room to store what was needed and move about the room.

The other two orcs had made their way over to a dresser and begun sifting through some of the belongings of Brumûk, searching optimistically for anything that could be of use/ traded / eaten.

"Stop that right now you fools!" Ragnäkah hissed. "Do you have any idea of whom those possessions belong to? Do not disturb them!" The two continued, heedless of his advice.  Ragnäkah looked to Grôltakh for his reaction.

"Stop it now, both of you," Grôltakh muttered in a monotonous manner. Yutshrug stopped, but the nameless one continued to loot, his hand reaching for a strange vial filled with purple gas.

A mauve talon reached from the shadows and caught the nameless orc's arm, causing all four orcs to jump. Whoever was in the shadows, he had definitely not been in the room when they had entered, and they would have noticed if he had come in past Ragnäkah. The hand released its grip and returned to the shadows.

"You don't want to touch that," the deep voice rasped from the darkness. "And you should obey your leader more – he knows what's _not_ good for you." Grôltakh stood up and placed the book back on the table.

"Hello Bruzmûk," he greeted.

"Mmmm… _Golug-bûrzum__,_" the voice mused. "When was our last meeting? Three – four was it? – Decades ago?" The voice emerged from the shadows to reveal a towering orc, nearly as big as an Uruk-hai, making even Ragnäkah and Grôltakh – some of the tallest of the orcs – look diminutive in comparison. A grey cloak with a large, low hood concealed the shoulders, back and top-half of the face of this Bruzmûk, and a long brown cloth cut into long triangles covered the orc's front, back and sides below his waist and down to his knees. On the left-hand breast of the cloak, there was a simple eye symbol, which was also mimicked on Bruzmûk's right shoulder in the form of a tattoo. There were no other adornments or clothes – not even shoes, or weapons.

All but Grôltakh gaped at this massive presence, the nameless one the most awestruck of the lot. He knew that there had never been an orc so tall, and there never would be again.

"You are here for the box? I know what is in it – we both know. But I still have not found the secret to opening it," Bruzmûk said disdainfully. "Still, I have done all I can to open it. _All_ I can." There was something about those three last words that sent a shiver up Ragnäkah's spine, though he did not know why. The ground trembled with another upheaval, as if it too was afraid of Bruzmûk, and the western horizon seemed to scream with the voice of a Nazgûl. Little did Ragnäkah know, it _was_ a Nazgul screaming in the distance – the Witch-king was finally being brought to an end. Ragnäkah was not enjoying this visit. He wanted to leave. Now.

~End of Chapter 21~

A/N: Magick is spelled correctly by the way – it's the spelling used by New Age religions to show the difference between 'real _magick_' and 'magician trick _magic_'.


	22. The Request

Chapter 21 Reviews:

Hel – I'm hoping that Bruzmûk will become an interesting character, but he doesn't know (or rather, sense) what has happened to the witch-king.  It'll become clear later on what he can and can't do, but I do worry that he may become one of those 'all seeing, all knowing' characters that are convenient for difficult 'plot hole' areas – especially with his enigmatic background.  I do so hate clichés – though I know I'm probably guilty of performing a few myself. : (

~Chapter 22~

Grôltakh delicately picked up 'the box' and handed it to Ragnäkah, who shook as he took it.  He did not know what it contained, but if it was in the presence of the Bruzmûk from Grôltakh's stories, then it was by no doubt deadly.  It was a medium sized thing – a strange twisted square-type box design with many maroon panels and slats that could be moved about and fiddled with.  In other words, the whole box was a complicated locking system and a puzzle.

            "Uh… Grôltakh?  C-can we go?"  Ragnäkah asked in a voice more timid than he would have desired.  Bruzmûk leered at him from under his cloak, and he was sure his eyes were full of a deranged sadistic gleam.

            "Mmmm… you are afraid of me?  So you should be!  You have more sense about you than your two brothers over there," Bruzmûk murmured, nodding his head at Yutshrug and the nameless one.  "But you have no reason to fear me… yet."  Ragnäkah shuddered visibly again, wishing that this man would not look at him, let alone talk to him.

            "I'll… wait ou'side," Ragnäkah said to Grôltakh, before turning on his heels and leaving before anyone (anyone meaning Bruzmûk) could protest.

In the room, all attention was turned back towards Bruzmûk.

            "I know that your work here is importan', but I want you t' join my group, and it will be like the old days, again," Grôltakh offered.  The mysterious orc cackled.

            "What an idyllic-sounding little fantasy you have in your head!  My work is indeed important, and I have not time to consider it now," Bruzmûk said whilst walking towards the door.  "I am needed at the front as soon as possible, and I must leave now if I am to make it in time.  I will give your proposal some consideration though, my old friend."  His speech then turned into Black Speech.  "_Until next time, 'Elf-darkness'!"  And the orc faded into the shadows of the Dark Tower and was gone._

The nameless orc resumed his looting.

            "We 'ave what I came for," Grôltakh told them, walking over to the nameless one and forcing him to put everything back that he stole just by using the gleam in his eyes.  "Now… something is goin' t' happen that will decide the fate o' Middle-Earth forever."

            "How d' you know that?"  The nameless orc interrupted.

            "'Ave you been blind for the past fortnight?  Why the fuck do y' think all o' these armies have been assembling, and all o' these strange things goin' on?"  Grôltakh retorted.  The nameless one had thought that everything that had happened to him _was_ normal for this world – he had not known any different; he didn't want to think any differently, either.

"It would do us good to stay close to Bruzmûk when the outcome is decided," Grôltakh continued.  Ragnäkah poked his head round the door.

            "Good?  Good!  Did you just hear what 'e said?  The man's headin' towards the front o' the battle!  Now how's that a good place t' be?  And be near him?  Ha!  The best place t' be is as far away from 'im as possible."

            "I have known Bruzmûk since I was one hundred and seventy-six years old – two centuries ago.  I know him, Ragnäkah, and if I say that the safest place t' be is near 'im, then that's the safest place t' be!  Now get movin'!" Grôltakh sneered, grabbing the nameless one's arm even more tightly and shoving him out of the door.  Yutshrug was soon to follow, and at that moment the candle suddenly burned out, and in the impenetrable gloom the room became alive with ghosts and _things, moaning in a lowly voice to themselves.  Had Grôltakh not known the way in which those souls had come to haunt Bruzmûk's quarters, he would have called their music harmonious._

Back at the entrance to the tower, the four orcs found Bruzmûk walking alongside _The Mouth of Sauron_, who was mounted on a midnight black steed.  Ragnäkah clutched the box close to him, yet at the same time was torn away from it, knowing that its content was lethal – whatever it was.

            "Is Bruzmûk a servant of The Mouth of Sauron?"  Yutshrug asked Ragnäkah, observing the way that the two were treating each other.

            "Idiot!"  Ragnäkah exclaimed. "He is The Mouth of Sauron's second-in-command!  He has tortured souls into second deaths, caused even the trees t' cry out in pain and divulge all o' their knowledge!  He has broken some o' the most strongest, unyielding minds that 'ave ever existed.  D'you know nothing?"  Ragnäkah seemed to be the only one of the orcs paying some heed to any signs of warnings of Bruzmûk given to him by Grôltakh, and as always, Ragnäkah was not reacting in the correct fashion to the situation – not that any of the others were either.  Grôltakh would have preferred three scared, slightly intelligent orcs than three ignorant, dumb orcs.  Grôltakh could not help but smile at Ragnäkah's descriptive, melodramatic performance as he went over to speak to Bruzmûk one last time, whilst the three burdens were close on his tail.  But all of a sudden, an Uruk-hai appeared in front of them, both hands on his hips, and a disappointing glare in his eye.

"What have we here then?"  He said, staring down his nose at them.  "O-ho!  Isengarders!  Did you double-cross that treacherous wizard, or did the treacherous-one stab _you_ in the back?  You should be off at the wars, my lads, by any rate!"  He cracked his whip over Grôltakh's head, and pushed them all into the end of a row of orcs.  "You'll be seeing battle, by any standards!  Mark my words!"

"But we only just got 'ere!"  Yutshrug cried to the back of the leaving Uruk-hai.  Before Grôltakh could let out a barrage of insults at the Uruk-hai, more orcs joined then, flanking their rear and joining their side, effectively hedging them in.  Ragnäkah could see that Grôltakh was not enjoying this; he preferred to be giving the orders, not being a pawn, and he knew that he could lead any of these orcs into battle as well as any of the Uruk-hai could – he'd had plenty of practice.

The nameless orc had not been into a battle before – not a proper one at any rate.  The sights, sounds, heat and (unfortunately) the smells overwhelmed him, smothering him and making him shift in and out of consciousness.  To him – like anything else that this world had given him to experience – it felt wondrous.  And he had all of the march to enjoy it.  Within minutes, they were on the move, running across the Plateau of Gorgoroth and back towards the Black Gates. 

~End of Chapter 22~

A/N:  The box is like one of those bloody 'rubix cube' things: impossible to solve, but you feel compelled to return to it to try and solve it sooner or later.  *Amilyi tosses her rubix cube over her shoulder* Now what was I going to do to finish off the story?  *Remembers* Ah, yesss…*Contemplates picking up rubix cube*  Must… resist… the squareness…


	23. The Road Goes Ever On and On

Chapter 22 reviews:

Hel – Only Grôltakh and Bruzmûk have any idea what is inside 'the box' – and they aren't going to tell the others any time soon.  The nameless one is probably the only one who is going to enjoy the battle… but you'll have to read this chapter to find out!  The ghosts in Bruzmûk's chambers are those that he tortured in life, but in death have come to torture him.  The thing is… Bruzmûk is not at all affected by them.  Enjoy!

[Edited: 24/11/03. Due to: Mistakes mentioned to me by a reviewer (oopsie!)  Also added the 'Thanks To' section, which I meant to do in the first place, but forgot.]

A/N:  Gasp!  Last Chapter!  And get ready for – yes, that's right!  Even _more marching!_

(And I do hope that I have the timing of everything right between the events and the journey of my little orcses, preciousss!)

~Chapter 23~ 

They did not stop for anything, be it food or water, rest or recovery.  Twice now the nameless one had fainted from dehydration and heat exhaustion, and for some reason, Grôltakh had felt duty-bound to help him – so he made Yutshrug carry him.  Before long, they came across two orcs in Cirith-Ungol clothing sitting at the side of the road, and the group halted.  The Uruk-hai whipping the back of the group along approached them, and Grôltakh, Ragnäkah and Yutshrug took some much-needed rest.  Yutshrug fell forwards and collapsed, the unconscious nameless one still on his shoulders.  The two orcs that were still standing looked at each other.

            "Well I'm not carrying 'em," Ragnäkah protested.  Grôltakh listened into the conversation of the Uruk.

            "Come on you slugs!  This is not time for slouching.  Deserting, eh?  Or thinking of it?  All your folk should have been inside of Udûn before yesterday evening.  You know that.  Up you get and fall in, or I'll have your numbers and report you."  The two soldiers struggled up onto their feet, and the Uruk ordered them to join into the group three rows from the back – right behind Ragnäkah and Grôltakh.  The march began again, and Ragnäkah somehow managed to get Yutshrug up and walking again – probably with the promise of food.  The next stop was when they had to get their company to merge with other companies from other areas of Mordor; it was brutal chaos.  Small fights were breaking out, and the Uruk-hai attempted to straighten everything out, but seemed to be failing miserably.

            "'Ere," Yutshrug said, tapping Grôltakh's shoulder.  "Those two orcs that were behind us – they've slipped off!"  Grôltakh let out a short, sharp bark.

            "I can't blame them!  I would do the same, but you lot would follow, and two exceptionally small orcs have more chance of slipping away than four normal-to-tall ones."  The lines shifted forwards slowly, drawing the orcs ever-closer to their demise.  And Grôltakh expected that it would be cruel.

                                                                        *

Bruzmûk ran alongside The Mouth of Sauron's horse, his legs nearly as long as any Uruk-hai's helping him to keep up, but it was really the spell that the Dark Lord had placed upon him that caused him to run so fast and so far in such a small amount of time.  He would be at the forefront of the battle, and possibly one of the first to die, but he felt no remorse for serving his dark master, and would eagerly die for his cause.  The Nazgûl screeched in the sky above; the battle at Minas Tirith had been lost, and now eight of the nine Nazgûl remained – the Witch-king was dead.   This was terrible news, but the battle could still be won – _if the One Ring was found.  They came to the gates, and their journey ended.  The orcs began to drum, horns were blown and war cries sounded and the gates were opened._

In front of them, they could see a small host of men walk forwards towards them, and a large host of human soldiers behind them.  It did not matter; they were small compared to the numbers of orcs, trolls, wargs, bats and balrogs that Sauron had attained.  It was a strange company that rode out to them: three elves, one of whom was a Mirkwood prince, and the two others were the sons of Half-Elven of Rivendell.  A dwarf was at the Mirkwood prince's side, and an Istari – Gandalf – was at the forefront.  He had been expecting Imrahil, and perhaps he should have expected Aragorn, for he was Dúnedain and heir to the throne of Gondor.  But what he was most surprised to see was the Hobbit.  He had read of them in an ancient tome of his that had crumpled and fell apart at the slightest touch.  Despite his vast knowledge, he knew very little of the creatures, only that they lived far in the west, a long way away from Mordor, and that they were not built for fighting.  Perhaps he could capture it alive and study it.

Talk ensued, even though both sides mentally agreed that it was only teasing and preparation for the battle, and as the belongings of one of the enemy's spies had been brought forwards, he witnessed their reaction of shock and distress – much to his amusement.  The Istari ended the talk hastily, using his powers to frighten his superior and take back the items.  It was then that the pretending and toying stopped, and the fighting began.

                                                                          *

They surged forwards, trampling any that got in their way, be they enemies or their own.  The fire was lit in Grôltakh, and it could not be easily quenched.  His sword flashed to and fro, and he fought nearly as good as a sword-master.  Ragnäkah (still clutching the box to his chest) and Yutshrug worked in complete unison, Ragnäkah  using his whip to be wrapped around a soldier's legs, neck or weapon, whilst Yutshrug finished them off by the dagger he kept by his side.

The young orc stood there placidly, gaping at the scene that he beheld.  He was pushed and shoved endlessly as others rushed into the battle.  His sword was limp in his hand.  So this was war.  Carnage, destruction, malice and insatiable bloodlust on both sides…  It was a glory that ripped into his very heart and devoured his soul, making him one with the world around him.  Never in his wildest dreams had he thought such a magnificent slaughter could be carried out.  And yet here it was.

            "I wouldn't stand about if I were you.  You gotta flow with the rest of us, or you'll get squashed," Grôltakh told him, stopping to advise to him briefly before running onwards, sword held steadily out in front of him with both hands.  The nameless one lifted his blade high into the air, and with a defiant roar, he slew his first human.

Soon, the nameless one, Yutshrug, Ragnäkah, and Grôltakh found themselves together again, back-to-back, and each with an enemy to butcher.  They were nearly trapped in a pocket, but they fought on, encouraged and filled with the knowledge that they were winning.

            "_For Mordor!_"  Grôltakh cried in the Black Speech.  "_For the Dark Lord!"  Soldier after soldier fell on their blades, and soon the four orcs found Bruzmûk in the midst of the fighting as well.  He had no weapons, but was using his body to deflect attacks and kill his opponents.  This did not come without a price, however, and Bruzmûk was soon covered in wounds, all of which he endured stoically.  He soon found himself wrestling with a soldier, grabbing a hold of part of the human's sword and effectively preventing him from using it.  As this was taking place, another soldier – a lieutenant of some kind – stole up behind Bruzmûk and raised his sword to his shoulders, preparing to hack off the orc's head.  Before either Bruzmûk or Grôltakh had time to react, the nameless one bounded in and put his sword through the chest of the lieutenant, whilst Bruzmûk finished off the soldier.  The nameless one received a grin-like grimace from Bruzmûk as a thank you, and the two rejoined the three others – who had nearly been cornered again – by cutting a path right through their adversaries._

Abruptly, with a cry that seemed to emanate from the very foundations of Lugbûrz itself, the black tower collapsed,  the ground shook, the Nazgûl were undone, Mount Doom began to erupt, the tides of the battle were changed and the Dark Lord – their unholy master – was no more.  All this, in a moment.

There was a unanimous halt in the killing by both sides, and the battleground fell silent.  Burzmûk witnessed these things and dropped to his knees.  He shook his head, and gaped at the tower.  A shout was given by one of the leaders of the human forces, and the attack resumed, the rumbling of Mount Doom the background sound to the rest of the battle.  Grôltakh looked around him.  Without the Nazgûl to lead them, or their Dark Lord to inspire them onwards, the battle was quickly being won by the side that had been losing only seconds before.  He saw, and he understood.  If they did not get away, they would surely die.  Yutshrug and Ragnäkah raised their weapons and were about to charge headlong into battle when he caught both of them by the collars and pulled them aside.  He managed to find the nameless one, fighting on against a Rohan warrior on his horse.  Somehow, the nameless orc had managed to avoid the blade of the rider and the feet of the horse and stab the horse in its side, wounding it beyond recovery and causing it to fall to the ground.  Grôltakh finished off the unhorsed rider.  Bruzmûk was easy to find; he was still staring up at where the peak of the tower had been, whilst the battle raged on around him, ignoring his presence for the time being.  It was as if he was a ghost, part of a separate world.  Ragnäkah and Yutshrug dragged him away by his shoulders, leading him to a rocky place in the cliffs that could be climbed with some effort.  Eventually, Bruzmûk's mind returned to them, and he was no longer a burden to the others.  The battle became more distant, but the outcome more obvious, and soon all of the orcs were thanking Grôltakh in their heads for saving their lives.  Grôltakh however, was now planning his next step, working and reworking his plans around this significant change.  Perhaps his plans still had a chance of being successfully completed.

Bruzmûk quickly took the lead, and within a few hours they found themselves outside a large tunnel, half-clogged by rubble.  This place had obviously been abandoned to time.

            "It is one of 'Her Ladyship's' old tunnels – I doubt that even she remembers it is here now," Bruzmûk explained to them all.  "The men and elves will not want to follow us here – will not, if they have any common sense."  His voice sounded slightly unfocused; distraught.  His old life in Lugbûrz was gone.  The tower and his lord – his way of life – had been decimated, and he would have to revert to his old ways.  He would have to be… a _follower_.

The orcs tentatively crept inside, trying hard to withstand the smell, and to conquer their fear.  If Grôltakh had not gripped Yutshrug's arm and dragged him further into the tunnels, he would have been back outside, probably being shot down with arrows.  They trudged on wearily, knowing that with their master gone, there were dark times ahead for the orcs.  Eventually, they came around to naming themselves to Bruzmûk.  Grôltakh, whom he already knew, introduced Yutshrug and Ragnäkah, but he paused when he came to the nameless one.

            "And this one… doesn't have a name."

            "No name?"  Bruzmûk enquired, looking the young orc over.  The nameless one looked at Bruzmûk hoping that the orc of Lugbûrz would have a name for him.  As they trudged along, the silence resumed, but this time, it was a silence filled with thought by Bruzmûk.  Yutshrug, Grôltakh and Ragnäkah began whispering amongst themselves, probably deciding which way to go through the tunnels.  Finally, Bruzmûk turned to the younger orc.

            "Ashrat," he said simply.

"Ashrat?"

"Ashrat," Bruzmûk confirmed, before turning back to inner thoughts.

The smaller orc stopped for a moment and smiled to himself.

            "Ashrat…" he mused.   He quickly realised that he was falling behind the rest of the group, and scuttled off to re-join them.

There was an uncertain future ahead for the small band of orcs, but Grôltakh was going to make sure that it was going to be an adventure.  And, meanwhile, somewhere deep underground, Shelob was howling with anger and pain.

~The End~

A/N:  The part from "Come on you slugs!" to "I'll have your numbers and report you(.)" comes directly from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Chapter 2 – The Land of Shadow.  Just so that you know – credit where credit is due.

Remember – all loose ends and unexplained mysteries will be revealed in the sequel or prequel.  There you have it folks – Amilyi's first completed fan fiction!  Questions?  Comments?  Flames?  All are welcome to my e-mail address, and don't forget to leave a review!

Thanks To:

J.R.R. Tolkien, for giving me and everyone else the possibility to write 'Lord of the Rings' fanfiction, and all reviewers, especially Hel, who has reviewed just about every single chapter as the story progressed.


End file.
